A Different Version of Events (2)
by stagepageandscreen
Summary: What if the June Rebellion of 1832 never happened? It's 1834 and Julien Enjolras is beginning to lose faith in his cause. Then a young woman with a shadow filled past unexpectedly appears in his life and the lives of the Amis. What will become of the Revolution? And has Patria finally met a rival for Enjolras' heart? Later chapters will be darker. *Chapters 1-9 now edited*
1. Chapter 1

**A/N Welcome to A Different Version of Events! This is my first multi chapter fiction so forgive me if I'm a bit slow on the uptake. I'm going to say this now; this is an Enjolras/OC fiction so if you don't like it, hit the back button. I would prefer it if you gave this a chance because, you never know, you might like it. If you want to see more of my stuff, check out my profile.**

**Okay, enough of the shameless self-promotion, let's get this baby rolling! **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Les Miserables as 1. I am not a man who lived in 19****th**** century France, 2. I am in no way related to Victor Hugo and so have no claims on his estate, and 3. If I did own Les Mis, this is what would have happened!**

**The only characters that are mine are the ones I create. **

**Chapter One**

_15__th__ October, 1834_

The lights of Paris reflected gently off the puddles that stood in the street, the remnants of a brief but violent thunderstorm that had struck earlier in the evening.

The streets were mostly empty save for a few beggars desperately trying to find a dry and sheltered place to sleep for the night. On the Rue Saint-Michel, the buildings were dark and their shutters were put up for the night. On this dark street, only one building, slightly rickety and lopsided creation that had seen better days, had lights in its windows, and sounds of revelry within could be heard. The paint of the sign was faded and chipped, matching the rest of the building, but the name was still visible;_ La Café Musain_. For a moment, the volume of sound heightened as the front doors opened and a figure emerged.

It was a man, tall, but not uncomfortably so, and lean. A leather satchel hung across his body and his hands were filled with loose papers. His clothing was nondescript, black breeches that had seen better days, knee high boots that looked in need of a cobbler and a burgundy coat going threadbare at the elbows. The light from the doors reflected off a mess of blond curls made disorganized by the owner running his hands through them. As he moved away from the door, an upper window opened and a voice shouted down.

"_Bonne nuit,_ Enjolras!"

The man, who was Enjolras, looked up. His blue eyes were cobalt in the light from the café and seemed preoccupied. He waved briefly, and then carried on down the street.

Even though it was October, the night was mild and a sliver of moon shone gently down. Enjolras was glad of the mild temperature. He sighed and ran a hand once more through his unruly golden curls. He would have to buy a new coat before winter, an expense he did not necessarily have enough money for.

He tried to forget about his money problems, instead thinking about the meeting that he had just left. This particular meeting of the _Les Amis l'ABC_ had gone surprisingly well. Courfeyrac had been relatively attentive, Bossuet hadn't broken anything (bones or objects) and Grantaire had remained bearably sober for most of the meeting. However, the group had been rowdy that evening and very little progress had actually been made. Enjolras sighed again. He sometimes felt he was the only one who went to the meetings with a purpose any more, well, him and Comberferre.

He smiled briefly at the thought of his philosophy loving, bespectacled, medical student friend but the smile soon turned to a frown. They never seemed to get anywhere at the meetings. Yes, they talked and discussed strategies and weapons and ammunition, but it wasn't enough.

His mind wandered back to June, 1832. He had been so sure the time had arrived, so sure. General Lamarque had been close to dying and although he was the only man who spoke for the people, his death would have been the flame that they needed to kindle the revolution, the final push to launch the city into an uprising. But Lamarque had recovered and their plans had never gone into action.

Enjolras paused at the corner and allowed himself to get caught up in his memories. Some days, he felt glad that nothing had happened. They had all been so young, he had only been twenty-two for god's sake, and the plans that they had thought fool proof at the time were ill conceived and full of metaphorical holes. They would have ended up dead on a lonely barricade at dawn, probably for nothing.

_Because nothing changes, and nothing ever will._

He shook himself, surprised at his own pessimism. If he kept up that train of thought he would turn into Grantaire, an idea that did not appeal in the slightest. He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't see the girl before it was too late. She knocked into his shoulder, sending the papers in his hand falling in a muddle onto the floor.

"My apologies, _m'sieur_!" Her voice was shaky and she sounded horrified at her clumsiness. She began to stoop down to help him, almost pressing into his side, but Enjolras snarled at her irritably to get on her way. She was probably either a pickpocket or a lady of the night and right now he didn't feel like having to interact with either.

She jumped to her feet like a startled bird before setting off down the street at a half run, her back ramrod straight and her head scanning left to right constantly.

Enjolras scowled. The essay that he had nearly completed for his law class had landed in a puddle, the water rendering it almost illegible. He reached for a bundle of papers that had landed farther away and just avoided having his hand stood on.

"Watch it!" The owner of the foot growled menacingly and Enjolras realized what a vulnerable position he was in, crouched on the ground and set off balance. He had a knife on his belt; it was crazy to go some of the places he did without one. But would he be able to reach it in time if this man had robbery in mind? Thankfully, the man continued walking, apparently not interested in a student retrieving his papers from the floor. He seemed to be scanning the street for something, his focus not on Enjolras.

Enjolras finished picking up the rest of his slightly damp papers and was preparing to continue home when something nipped at his subconscious. The man had not looked like the most savoury of characters and the only other person on this street had been that girl. He suddenly registered the emotion that had been in her voice; fear. Raw, unbridled fear.

A scream rang out from farther down the street, back towards the café, but was abruptly cut of off. Before he knew what he was doing, he was running back the way he had just come. Another scream, shorter and filled with pain guided him into an alley he would normally avoid at all costs. It was the kind of alley that people disappeared into and came out the other side robbed, raped, or beaten up, sometimes all three. As he entered the alley, he heard the sound of running feet. They were moving away from him, but he drew his knife all the same, holding it out in front of him in readiness. He hastily replaced it back into its sheath when he saw the source of the scream.

It was the young woman who had knocked into him a minute ago. She sat slumped against the wall of the alley, her head lolling; her hands limp at her sides. The faint, flickering light of a streetlamp fell across her face, making Enjolras draw in a sharp breath of shock. That much blood on the outside of a person could not be healthy. He knew nothing of medicine; he really needed Joly or Comberferre, or both. Joly worked down at one of the poorer hospitals as a junior doctor, he would know what to do. He knew that every second he stood there, the chances of this girl's survival shrank. The café was only a few hundred yards up the street, he would only be minute. But he knew Paris. By the time he got back, the girl would have been picked clean by the gamins that no doubt populated this alley. Should he move her? He stood for a moment, indecisive. Just then, his salvation came sauntering past the end of the alley.

"Gavroche!" he called urgently.

A rather gawky and ragged boy of about 15 turned his head at the sound of his name. As soon as he saw who had called him, he scampered over. "You alright, Enjolras?" he asked.

"Go and get Joly for me, fast Gav!" Enjolras pulled off his cravat and used it to try and stem the blood pumping at an alarming rate from the girl's shoulder. The gamin did not ask questions but sped back off towards the café.

When Joly arrived a minute later, he was accompanied by not only Gavroche, but also Comberferre, Courfeyrac, and, most surprisingly, Grantaire.

"Good God, Apollo!" Grantaire drawled as Joly did a quick examination. "You attract more trouble than women, or in this case, both!"

Enjolras clenched his teeth in an effort to keep the anger bubbling over, not wanting Grantaire's sarcasm to get to him, especially not now. He rarely lost his temper, but when he did, the _Les Amis_ knew better than to get in his way. Instead of deigning to reply, he turned back to Joly who looked decidedly grave.

"We need to get her somewhere I can examine her better." He glanced around the alley in disgust as if being somewhere this dirty was going to give him a disease. "Ideally, somewhere clean."

"The café?" Courfeyrac suggested. He was looking a little pale, although from anger or nausea Enjolras couldn't be sure.

Joly shook his head. "I need a bed ideally. Who lives the closest?"

"I do, and my flatmate just moved out, so I've got a room spare." Enjolras said. "Who would be best to carry her?"

"I'll carry her." The voice was Grantaire's.

Enjolras glared at him. "Can you even walk in a straight line tonight?" he almost hissed, his irritation finally getting the better of him.

For once, Grantaire did not give a sarcastic or nonchalant reply. His greyish green eyes stared coolly back at the blond leader as he rolled up his sleeves. "I'm the strongest one here, even you can't argue with that. Besides, I've done much harder things a lot less sober." He crouched down and carefully gathered the still, blood soaked form into his arms. He stood, the girl in his arms seeming to hardly weigh anything at all.

"Lead on, Apollo." Even in the gravity of the situation, Grantaire could help teasing Enjolras with the nickname he hated.

As the little group left the alley, Enjolras muttering dire warnings to Grantaire about calling him Apollo, a shadow detached itself from the wall farther up the alley. His right hand was stained with blood, along with the front of his dark coat. He was not unduly worried about the rescue. If the blow that her head had sustained from the brick wall didn't kill her, the loss of blood from the stab wound just above her heart would. Besides, he had the name of the bitch's rescuer, something his employer would be very pleased with. He glanced down at the piece of paper in his hand. The essay had been almost obliterated by the puddle, but the name at the top of the page was still visible.

Julian Enjolras

**A/N Thanks for reading and please review, I get happy feelings when I get reviews. Any advice is welcome, but please, no flames, constructive criticisms only. **


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: Have I become a genius male writer from the 19****th**** century? No. Therefore I am not Victor Hugo. **

**None of the characters belong to me apart from the ones I have created. **

**A/N Just wanted to do a quick shout out to Phoenixflames12 who was my first reviewer EVER and gave me a very encouraging review of my one shot Bulletproof. Also a major thank you to guineamania for being my FIRST FOLLOWER! **** Thank you both so much. **

**Enjoy the chapter! **

**Chapter Two**

Despite his mild intoxication, Grantaire carried the girl well; even Enjolras had to admit that. Enjolras was many things that Grantaire was not, but his finer build meant that he was not as physically strong as the cynic. Grantaire's pace was swift and steady as he cradled the girl close to his chest, not caring about the blood that stained his already tatty clothing.

As the group made their way up the rickety stairs that led to Enjolras' apartment they met his landlady/housekeeper, Margo, a kindly woman in her fifties, who gasped slightly when she saw the group but asked no questions. She set a kettle to boil for both tea and to clean the girl up, and gathered as much clean linen as she could. She had a soft spot for the fiery revolutionary leader, who was always impeccably polite to her, if a bit cold, and had helped her out with numerous jobs that she found too physically demanding.

Several hours and batches of hot water later, Joly and Combeferre exited Enjolras' bedroom, Joly scrubbing the blood off his hands with a damp rag. It had been decided upon arrival that Enjolras would move into the other, empty room as his current bedroom was larger and had the better light, the two things that the medical students needed for treating the patient.

Gavroche and Courfeyrac had gone long ago, Gavroche with a five franc piece in his pocket and Courfeyrac offering the lad a roof over his head for the night. Upon arrival, Grantaire had first searched the apartment for wine, and upon not finding any, had thrown himself into the most comfortable armchair and promptly fallen asleep.

"How bad is it?" was Enjolras' first question.

Joly sat slowly down on a wooden chest that held some of Enjolras' many books. "She's been stabbed in the shoulder by her collar bone. Two inches lower and she would have been dead before you found her." He frowned, "She also has some strange cuts across the back of both hands and on her left arm, probably caused by her struggling to escape the knife. Bruising around her throat suggests someone tried to silence her by cutting off her air supply."

The idea of the girl struggling for her life in an alley, while he was grumbling about picking up papers made Enjolras inwardly flinch. A twinge of guilt took up uncomfortable residence; he had pushed her away, sending her straight into the clutches of her attacker. He tried to put the image out of his head as Joly began speaking again.

"Although those injuries are serious, the fact that we…well you… got there so fast would make her chances of survival look more positive if it wasn't for the head wound." Joly ran a hand through his light brown hair, uncertain how to continue.

"It looks as if the skull has been cracked slightly." Comberferre explained, taking off his glasses and rubbing his tired eyes. "The cut is not too serious, but the force of the blow could have damaged her brain."

Enjolras felt a seething anger build within him, the same anger he felt whenever he saw injustice taking place. What had that woman done to deserve this? He was so focused on trying not to smash anything that he barely heard what Joly said next.

"Sorry, could you repeat that?" he asked.

"I said, I don't know that much about head wounds, but I do know someone who does. He's a doctor down at the hospital I work at. You could say he's on our side as he believes in the same values as we do. He's very good and won't charge us a thing."

"However, he won't be available to come until the morning." finished Comberferre.

"Will she survive till then?" The three students turned at the sound of Grantaire's voice. He was still sprawled in the same the position as before, but his eyes were open and filled with a depth emotion Enjolras hadn't seen there before and couldn't quite recognise. Either that or he was just hung over.

Joly shrugged helplessly. "I've done all I can by patching her up. The only thing we can do now is hope."

Enjolras saw that his friends were struggling to stay awake. "You can stay here for tonight if you wish," he offered, "One of you can have the other bed and I can find some blankets to make the floor more bearable."

Joly and Comberferre glanced at each other. "Somebody needs to keep an eye on her, really." Comberferre said uncertainly.

"I can sit there with her, I have to rewrite my law essay anyway, and I will come and wake you immediately if anything happens." Enjolras argued, already finding the spare blankets he kept to put on his bed in the winter.

Half an hour later, silence reigned supreme over the tiny apartment, only the sound of Grantaire's snoring and Joly (_who had taken the bed because of 'magnetic forces' and 'the right balance of humours while sleeping', whatever that meant_) occasionally mumbling in his sleep disturbing the peace. True to his word, Enjolras watched the girl for any change, while also trying to rewrite his law essay. Eventually, he quenched the tiny oil lamp by which he was working and sat and studied the girl by the light of a single candle.

He called her a girl, but it was difficult to guess her age. She had long brown hair that normally would probably have a slight curl to it. Now, it lay limply on the pillow, clumped together in places by dried blood. Having never seen her eyes open, he did not know the colour. Her skin was pale, although whether this was natural or from the blood loss, he couldn't be sure. He supposed that if she were clean and healthy, she could be called… maybe not beautiful… but certainly striking. Her nose was too tip tilted and her forehead a little high for society to call her beautiful. Despite what his friends thought of him, he could appreciate a beautiful woman. Just because he didn't chase after every piece of skirt that batted her eyes lashes at him didn't mean he didn't appreciate women. He just had better things to do. '_And you don't trust yourself ' _the nagging voice in his head whispered.

Just as he was about to attempt to get an hour or two's sleep in his highly uncomfortable desk chair, he heard a murmur of noise from the bed. Cautiously, he walked to beside the bed and peered down at the girl. It was almost as if she sensed his scrutiny, for a moment later her dark lashes fluttered against her skin before slowly opening.

For some reason, Enjolras had thought that her eyes would be brown to match her hair. But they were green, a deep stunning green that reminded him of cool forests in the heat of summer. He was so focused on her eyes that he only just heard her speak. His eyes widened and he scrambled through the apartment to wake Joly.

"Joly! _Joly_! Wake up, she spoke!" He shook the sleeping student roughly.

Joly jumped awake, yelling, "_Conjunctivitis_!"

Enjolras looked at him blankly.

Joly grinned sheepishly, "Exam coming up." He suddenly registered what his friend had said and his eyes widened. "She spoke?" he queried, stumbling through to the bedroom.

The girl looked so still that for a moment Enjolras feared the worst. Apparently, so did Joly as the first thing he did was check her pulse and breathing. He breathed a noticeable sigh of relief. "She's breathing, but she hasn't moved. Are you sure she spoke? What did she say?"

It took Enjolras a moment to remember the whispered words. "Angel," he said quietly, suddenly embarrassed. "She said _'my guardian angel'_ then passed out again."

Any other time, Joly would have laughed at his friend being compared to an angel, although the comparison was understandable and rather apt. With his golden hair, clear blue eyes, and sharply handsome features, Enjolras really did look like one of the golden beings depicted in paintings. Now, however, Joly just frowned. "It's almost dawn; the doctor I mentioned last night may be available. I'll set off now."

"Do you want anything to eat?" Enjolras asked, and then realized he probably didn't have much to offer his friend. Eating wasn't high on his list of priorities, eating at home was barely even considered.

Joly shook his head as he pulled on his jacket, which looked every bit as threadbare as Enjolras'. "No, I'm fine for now and you probably haven't got anything anyway." He smiled to show that he teasing. "Sleep until I get back or you'll be of no use to anyone. I'll get 'Ferre to watch the patient."

As Joly shut the door behind him and Comberferre settled down to watch the girl and study at the same time, Enjolras tried to sleep. Even though he was exhausted, he couldn't settle. He tried to tell himself it was because he had work left unfinished, that the nail head under his left hip bone was annoying him, or that Grantaire's snoring was at_ just_ the right pitch and depth to be _really irritating_, but he knew it wasn't.

What was keeping him awake was the memory of a set of green eyes and a barely heard whisper calling him an angel. On that note, he finally drifted off into a troubled doze.

**A/N Thanks for reading, hope you're enjoying it! As always, review PLEASE! Reviews are like free tickets to see Les Miserables on the stage, chocolate and a private meeting with Aaron Tviet. Well, almost. ;) **


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: Guess what? I'm still not Victor Hugo.**

**A/N Wow, two chapters in one day! Quick thanks to funky11 who has not only followed my story, but favourited it as well. THANK YOU. I'm an easily pleased person ;)**

**Chapter Three**

An hour or so later, Joly returned to the apartment with a grey haired but sprightly looking man. He shook Enjolras' hand absentmindedly, looking around the apartment in a way that made Enjolras feel slightly uncomfortable.

"She's through here, sir." Joly gestured to the bedroom.

"Yes, yes, of course." The man said, moving purposefully out of the main living space, pausing only to glance at a still sleeping Grantaire.

The girl was still unconscious and had not stirred again. The strange doctor took in all of the information that Joly nervously gave him without a word, instead gently running his fingers lightly over the girl's skull and other wounds.

"What's his name?" Enjolras asked as the man had not offered it when they had met.

It was Comberferre who answered. "Dr Pierre Dupont. He can be a little odd sometimes, but he has an amazing attention to detail. He can tell what you do, where you grew up and where you live without even asking you. He testifies in court for rapes, robberies, murders, that kind of thing."

Enjolras frowned. "Why?"

"He reads wounds the same way he reads people, it's incredible." Joly whispered, sounding completely in awe of the unassuming man sitting by the bed. He had finished his examination and was sat studying the girl intently.

"He can help piece together how something happened by studying the wounds. He also somehow begins to build a rough sketch of the attacker." Joly paused. "I hoped he might be able to do it for our patient."

"You are a law student, yes?" The question made them all start. Dr Dupont was looking at Enjolras.

"That's correct, sir." Enjolras answered.

"Haven't passed the bar yet though, and what are you… 24?... 25? You look younger though. But you haven't passed because you're not capable, oh no, not with this many books around. No, it's because you're distracted, or your professors don't like you. Now why would that be? Judging from the books on Robespierre and the Revolution, I think I spotted the Social Contract on the way in, coupled with the tricolour rosette you and your friends wear, I'm guessing aspiring political activist."

Enjolras was impressed but preferred to stay on topic. "Joly said you could decipher an attack from the wounds?"

"Also very focused." Dr Dupont chuckled then became serious. "I can only give you a very rough idea of the incident, but I can say that this is a very brave and lucky woman lying here."

"Why do you say brave?" Joly asked.

Dr Dupont picked up the girl's hands and carefully removed the bandages. A little blood seeped out but the cuts were not too deep.

"The attacker was right handed judging from the angle of these cuts and the stab wound in her shoulder was meant to hit her heart. The only reason it didn't was because she tried to punch his face."

Enjolras stared. "She tried to punch an armed man? How can you tell?"

Dr Dupont picked up the girl's arm and closed the limp hand into a fist then asked Joly to do the same with the other hand. He then arranged the arms in a fighting stance.

"The knife cut diagonally across the back of the right hand, between the two knuckles of the left hand, over left forearm then into her shoulder. In the dark alley, and with the amount of blood that appeared, her attacker will have thought he'd hit her heart or a main artery. The shoulder wound has some ragged edges saying that she continued to struggle. That's probably when he hit her head against the wall."

Dr Dupont re-bandaged the girl's hands and arm and moved up to her head. "There are little fragments of brick in her hair and on the wound." He frowned, reached into his bag and pulled out a pair of scissors. "Joly, go and find some hot water. We'll need to clean this up again afterwards." He glanced briefly at the young doctors. "You two did a good preliminary job, well done." Joly flushed in pleasure at the complement, and went to find Margo, returning a few minutes later with water and fresh cloths.

Enjolras watched as Dr Dupont and Joly tidied up the wound. When they were finished, the water and cloths were stained red and from her forehead to just behind her ear on the left side of her head the hair had been cut short to allow access to the horrendous looking wound in her scalp.

Dr Dupont however was rather cheerful. "She must have a skull like iron," he remarked as he packed up. "I can't feel any serious cracks or fractures and the fact that she woke up, however briefly, is a good sign."

"Would she be better off at a hospital?" Enjolras asked.

"That is out of the question. Although she has a good chance of recovery, these wounds are incredibly serious. When she is awake and talking I will visit again. Until then," he now spoke solely to Joly, "keep everything clean and try to get liquids into her to keep her strength up. You're lucky with the shoulder wound, only silk threads from the chemise went in."

"Silk doesn't cause a wound to fester," Comberferre explained for Enjolras' benefit and also for Grantaire who had stumbled into the doorway.

Enjolras' blue eyes narrowed for a moment in thought, but he did not speak on his thoughts until Dr. Dupont had left. "Comberferre, look at her dress."

His friend picked up the blood stained and filthy piece of clothing. "What about it?"

Enjolras began to pace the room, his boots stamping out a steady rhythm. "I don't know that much about women's clothing," he ignored the mischievous look that Grantaire gave him, continuing to speak before a crude comment was made, "but even I know that silk is an expensive material."

"What's that got to do with the dress?" Joly eyed the filthy garment with some distaste. "Which, I hasten to add, needs to be burnt before it passes on any diseases it may have picked up in that _filthy_ alleyway."

As usual, his friends ignored his hypochondria tendencies. Combeferre studied one of the cleaner patches of fabric. "I see what you mean." He said, almost to himself. "The fabric is good quality and, although a bit faded, the dress is very well made."

Grantaire collapsed into the chair that had previously held Dr Dupont. "Either I am more hung over than I originally thought, or I'm really missing the point of why 'Ferre has taken a sudden interest in seamstressing. Who the hell cares about her dress?" This short outburst was followed by a groan as Joly pulled open the flimsy curtains and flooded the room with bright autumn sunshine.

Enjolras let out a sigh that made his friends suspect he was about to enter into what they called his 'Am I Surrounded By Complete Idiots?' persona.

"Why was a women who could afford silk chemises and well made, warm dresses wandering about in the slums of Saint Michel?" he peered questioningly at each of them in turn. "Any suggestions?"

Grantaire, who was sprawled in the desk chair with his arm over his eyes to block out the sunlight offered first. "She was meeting a lover?"

Enjolras shook his head. "She was scared; I heard it in her voice."

A knock sounded at the door stopping the debate. It seemed to jerk Joly into action as he rolled up his sleeves and made little shooing motions with his hands. "Everyone but Combeferre out, I need to change the dressings, and Enjolras, if you see Margo could ask her if she has a minute? I want to show her how to change the bandages if she is the only person here to care for the patient."

As Enjolras and Grantaire emerged into the main living space, they found Margo giggling like a school girl and flushed an interesting shade of red. The reason for this was that Courfeyrac, who was in horrifyingly cheerful mood for the time of day, had met her on the stairs on the way in. He was at his iridescent, charming best and had convinced her to let him straight into the apartment, rather than, as he said, 'disturb my good friend, as he has probably spent most of the night in a fearful struggle against the injustices of society, the modern world, and the fact that a real human woman is asleep in his bed'.

After Margo had composed herself and had gone through to help Joly and Combeferre, Enjolras fixed Courfeyrac with a glare that would have been impressive if not for the dark bags under his eyes. Courfeyrac, being Courfeyrac, said as much, which earned him an even fiercer glare and a chuckle from Grantaire.

"You were _flirting_ with my_ landlady_." Enjolras eventually bit out.

"She is a fine looking woman." Courfeyrac answered sincerely, even holding his hat over his heart for effect, but mostly because it was new and he was hoping for a complement in his good taste. He really should have known better, after all it is _Enjolras_we are talking about!

Enjolras let out a sigh and was about to ask what Courfeyrac was doing here, when a bone chilling scream rang out from the bedroom. All three of them bolted in that direction to be confronted with the sight of Combeferre trying to hold the struggling girl down by a firm and carefully placed grip on her shoulders. Joly seemed on the verge of panic, rummaging through his bag for something to calm her (and probably him), and Margo was murmuring gently in an attempt to calm the girl.

Eventually, the girl's struggles grew weaker as the effects of her injuries finally overrode the panic. She lay on the bed, a whimpering, shaking mess, the thin linen chemise supplied by Margo not doing much to disguise her heaving chest. The Amis politely averted their eyes, while Margo smoothed the hair away from the girl's forehead and spoke words so quiet that none of the Amis could hear them. They seemed to work however, for her breathing calmed somewhat, and Combeferre was able to release his hold.

"I apologise, mademoiselle, I had no desire to alarm you." He spoke gently, and Enjolras was once again struck by the ease in which Combeferre conversed with his patients; as if he had bumped into her in the street and not just had her pinned by her arms to a bed as she did her level best to claw his eyes out.

The girl had somehow managed to pull herself up into a sitting position, gasping from the sudden pain that bloomed in her shoulder and arms. Enjolras saw that she flinched as Margo pulled the blankets up to her shoulders to give her a modicum of modesty, and her eyes, those green eyes that had haunted his sleep all night, were wide with fear.

Joly seemed to have come to his senses and was gingerly finishing off replacing the dressing on her shoulder, Margo never stopping with her soothing words. At that moment, Enjolras was hugely grateful for his landlady. If only there were more people in the world like her, it would be a significantly better place.

Joly finished his ministrations and straightened up, his back audibly clicking.

"That sounded painful." The voice was soft and slightly uncertain.

"Just several vertebrae realigning themselves into their natural order." Joly answered then realized that it was the girl that had spoken. All of the occupants of the room stared at her in surprise. She shifted uncomfortably under their gaze. "Where…" she began, but her throat was so dry her voice cracked. Courfeyrac disappeared from beside Enjolras and reappeared a moment later with a beaker of water. He presented it to her with a gallant flourish, coaxing a smile so small it was barely discernible, but a smile nonetheless.

Margo supported the weight of the glass as the girl drank, who was swallowing so quickly she seemed certain to choke. When all the water was gone she took a deep breath, cleared her throat, and tried to speak again.

"Where am I, and what happened to me?"

**A/N This ended up being a really long chapter, but I couldn't find an appropriate way to end it. The next chapter will be introducing (sort of) our mysterious patient, so stay tuned. **


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I checked my birth certificate just to confirm it – I AM NOT VICTOR HUGO.**

**A/N Thank you for the people who have read this but I really need reviews! Did you love it, hate it, have you seen it before and could suggest some changes? Help me out! **

**Chapter Four**

"Where am I and what happened to me?"

Everyone in the room looked at everybody else, no one quite certain how to begin. In the end, it was Courfeyrac who broke the silence.

"Somebody attacked you late last night," he said, his normally light teasing tone replaced by a much gentler one. He sat down in the chair by the bed so he was not looming over her as much. "My friend," he gestured behind him to Enjolras, "heard your…" he hesitated, "your screams… and found you in an alley. The man who attacked you was long gone I'm afraid."

Nobody was quite sure if she had heard him as, when she had caught sight of Enjolras, she had fixed him with a thoughtful stare, as if trying to place him. "I feel as if I've seen you before…in a dream..." she said softly, almost to herself.

Enjolras felt incredibly uncomfortable under her stare, a sensation he was not familiar with at all. Holding political rallies and meetings, he had got used to people staring at him, especially as he looked the way he did. Damn, why did she have this effect on him?

"I think we should probably leave our patient in peace, crowding her will not be doing her any good." Joly motioned towards the door.

Courfeyrac rose to follow Enjolras and Grantaire but the girl's voice made them all stop.

"Thank you, to all of you." Her eyes were beginning to drift shut as Margo helped her to lie back down. Despite her earlier lucidity, the pain from her injuries and the stress of her fight with Combeferre were taking their toll. Margo stayed behind, saying she wanted to make sure the girl got to sleep peacefully.

LINE BREAK

The five students went their separate ways after that, all but Grantaire heading to classes. Joly promised to alert Dr Dupont about what had happened and they all agreed to meet up at the Musain that night.

For Enjolras, the day passed slowly. His politics class he could pass standing on his head, but his professor, a grouchy and cantankerous human being by the name of Acerbe *, had taken a severe dislike to the blond revolutionary after Enjolras had whipped the class into a roaring debate that had resulted in several punch ups (led by Bahorel who happened to be in the same class) and small fire (not started by Bahorel, at least not intentionally).

For him, the day only really started when he walked through the doors of the Café Musain and mounted the stairs that led to the second floor. He took the left hand corridor and gave particular knock before opening the door.

Almost everyone else was there. Joly was examining his tongue in a pocket mirror he always carried, Bahorel was arm wrestling with Grantaire, Bossuet was nursing a split lip, and in the corner sat a solemn looking young man reading a law textbook.

Enjolras made his way over and patted the young man on the shoulder. "Marius, it's good to see you. You missed the last three meetings."

Marius smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Sorry, translation work got backed up. It was either run out of money or miss the meetings. Not all of us can survive on one meal every three days, Enjolras."

Enjolras peered closely at him, noticing that his skin was so pale that the dusting of freckles over his nose were a lot darker than normal. There were dark rings under his eyes and he looked too thin.

When Marius Pontmercy had originally joined the group about three years ago, Enjolras hadn't been quite sure what to make of him. He was young, naïve, infuriatingly air headed sometimes, and was above all a stubborn Buonopartist. He also had not endeared himself to Enjolras by falling head over heels for some girl that he had seen at the market in the months leading up to what Enjolras thought would be the revolution in '32.

However, even he could not help but feel for Marius when the girl's father had moved them to England with no warning at all. One day she had been there, the next she had not. There had been no address for his letters to be sent to. Enjolras was certain, that if there was a walking example of a broken heart, Marius Pontmercy was it.

The evening passed pleasantly. Most of it was spent explaining the events of the night before and this morning to the Amis who had not been present, or were worried about the girl's condition. Enjolras briefly managed to steer the conversation towards the rally they were organizing for the next week, but then Jehan offered to come over to the apartment and read the girl some poetry whilst she slept, to which Enjolras politely declined. Unfortunately, Combeferre then mentioned that he had been reading a medical paper discussing the idea that reading to patients that were unconscious was not so strange after all. Joly disagreed. Three hours later and they were still going. Another evening wasted.

LINE BREAK

Margo was waiting for Enjolras when he got home. She was sat in one of the armchairs knitting, probably something for one of her many grandchildren. Her kind face broke into a smile at the sight of Enjolras but she placed a warning finger to her lips for him to be quiet.

"Bonjour, Enjolras. She is asleep." She whispered, gathering her things and preparing to go.

Enjolras felt a mild panic, and a small amount of annoyance, that he was to be left alone with a dangerously ill girl. "Did she wake up again today?"

"Once, this afternoon, but only to drink again, and to… answer the call of nature."

He felt himself flushing. She smiled understandingly and moved towards the door.

"Wait!" he said, careful not to raise his voice. "What if she wakes up? I don't know what to do."

"Monsieur Joly said he would be round later. _Bon nuit_." She shut the door behind her.

Leaving him alone with the girl.

Mentally telling himself to get a grip, he pushed open the door to what had previously been his room, in a sense still was, all of his things were still in here. She looked more peaceful than she had that morning, and less like a corpse than the night before. Her skin was regaining some colour but was still far too pale. He silently prayed that she would stay asleep. The chances of Joly getting over here inside the next two hours were highly unlikely and he had no idea what he would do if she woke up in a panic again like this morning.

Trying to be as quiet as possible, he began to transfer all of his possessions into the other bedroom. The books took the longest; there were just so many of them. The only thing he couldn't move was his desk, it was far too heavy for him to lift alone and it would make an extraordinary amount of noise, so instead he sat down at it and began to work on a new pamphlet for the rally next week. He briefly looked around the empty room, suddenly realizing how cold and clinical his apartment was. Books, clothing, a few pieces of furniture, and that was all. No personal items to be seen. He shook himself. Since when was he so sentimental? Last night he was pessimistic, tonight he was sentimental.

"Focus, Julien, focus." He muttered to himself.

"At least I can now put a name to my angel."

Her voice made him leap out of his chair with a yelp of surprise. _"Mon Dieu!"_

She flinched away from him, which sent an involuntary ripple of pain across her face. He was still gasping from shock and hardly heard her reply.

"Yes, I imagine you see him pretty often, _angè_." She looked back over at him cautiously.

Enjolras stared. Had she just made a joke? Here she was, lying in a strange apartment, seriously injured, and she was making jokes!

She smiled at the look of surprise still on his face before slipping back into the pain free relief of sleep.

Enjolras set his chair back upright, having knocked it over with his hasty exit from it, and tried to settle back into work. His nerves had been set on edge though and every few seconds he would glance over to see if she had woken again.

She didn't though.

_What have you got yourself into now Julien? _He thought to himself.

* acerbe - sour

**A/N Okay, hope you all enjoyed this chapter, it was pretty good fun to write. I was going to have her be introduced to all of her carers, but after what she's gone through, her recovery will be slower than that. Promise not to drag it on for too long though.**

**Just a question: would people be interested if I did a fiction based on Marius and Cosette's story? I've only got a rough idea at the moment and I probably wouldn't start it until the end of this one, but do you think it's a good idea?**

**Until next time mon amis! **


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I am not Victor Hugo. Geez, you'd have thought someone would have figured that out by now.**

**A/N Thank you to all of the lovely people who have viewed, favourited and followed. I would still like some more reviews if possible. I'm warning you, I might start begging in the next author's note and that will not be pretty. ;)**

**Chapter Five**

It was three days before the girl woke up again and it was the first time that she had been completely aware of her surroundings.

She awoke as Combeferre and Joly were changing the dressing on her shoulder and checking the cuts on her arms, helped by Margo. Thankfully, she did not awake in a panic like the last time, she just suddenly asked if sitting up would make the process any easier. When the job was done, the two medical students prepared to leave but she called out to them.

"Wait! How can I thank you all for your kindness when I don't know your names? Well," she glanced gratefully at the woman beside her, "none of your names apart from Margo's"

She obviously did not remember her conversation with Enjolras a few days before, if it could even be called a conversation.

Courfeyrac, who had come around to the apartment in the hope of copying off Enjolras' notes from their law class, was delighted at the idea of introducing everyone to their currently nameless patient and finally being able to put a name to said patient.

He vigorously gathered everyone, meaning Combeferre, Joly, a hung over Grantaire (who for some reason had appeared at the apartment midmorning), Enjolras (who had to be dragged away from his desk), Margo and himself, into the little room. As this turned out to be a bit of a squeeze, even though Enjolras' desk had been removed two days before, Grantaire lounged against the door frame with Enjolras to free up some floor space.

Courfeyrac paced the floor like a great orator about to begin a speech, and Enjolras couldn't help but look at the girl, noting the changes to her appearance as he did so. Margo had washed the blood and filth out of her hair and brushed it so it fell in a shining brunette curtain to the middle of her back. Her skin had regained some more colour, showing that she had quite a dusky tone to her skin. She glanced nervously around the room, her eyes flitting from person to person. Just for a moment, she locked eyes with him and the corner of her mouth crooked up, showing that he had been caught staring.

Grantaire, who was much more observant than many people gave him credit for, gave his blond friend a not so subtle, or gentle, nudge in the ribs, earning himself one of Enjolras special glares that normally only came out when Grantaire was spectacularly misbehaving, like the time he had bought Jehan a ferret and had then insisted on showing the gentle hearted poet how to feed it a live mouse. Jehan hadn't left his apartment for two days afterwards and Grantaire had been permanently banned from that particular café. Apparently, having customers running out of the doors screaming was not good for business.

For some reason, Jehan had kept the ferret, now called Ophelia (no one asked why), and had put it on a strict dead animals only diet.

Enjolras was drawn from his mental rambling by Coufeyrac beginning the introductions.

"You have been a guest here for some days now, but we have, as yet, not been introduced," he gestured to Combeferre. "This bespectacled medical student goes by the name of Phillip Combeferre. When he is not saving the lives of beautiful women, such as yourself, he is voluntarily reading philosophy and other such clever but dull things."

Enjolras narrowed his eyes slightly at Coufeyrac's behaviour, but Combeferre just shrugged, a boyish smile playing on his features.

"It's nice to be able to put a name to one of my doctor's faces." She spoke softly, as if it was quite painful. It probably was.

Unfortunately, at that moment the full force of his hangover hit Grantaire and he stumbled away from the door. Judging from the direction the retching came from, he had just managed to make it to the sink before the several bottles of wine he had consumed the night before made a return appearance.

Joly scurried after him, a bottle of dark, unpleasant looking liquid held in one hand, and muttering about the damage that the retching could be inflicting upon his friend. "He could crack a rib, or rupture his spleen, or damage his oesophagus, or…"

Courfeyrac smiled, not put off in the least. "The tall, dark, and drunk one is Nicholas Grantaire, but don't call him Nicholas or any of its diminutives, he hates it. We mostly call him by his last name or Capital R or just plain R."

She looked a little baffled by the information but just nodded in understanding.

"Your other doctor who ran after him is Christophe Joly, or Jolllly, as we sometimes call him, our resident hypochondriac. When he isn't checking his tongue in a mirror or trying to convince us all he's dying of the plague, he is one of the best friends you could ask for."

"I must thank him for everything he's done." The girl gestured to her head and shoulder with her free arm. She tried to smile again but winced, her head obviously giving her a fair amount of pain. "You have not yet introduced yourself, m'sieur, or your other friend." She glanced over to Enjolras, who desperately wanted to leave, even though that would be rude, and at the same time desperately wanting to stay.

Courfeyrac smiled again, and bowed courteously. "I am Jerome Courfeyrac, the beating heart of my group of friends, always ready with a smile, gallant knight to damsels in distress…"

"He means he flirts with anything in a skirt." chipped in Enjolras, not sure why he spoke.

Courfeyrac frowned disapprovingly. "Nonsense, Julien, I distinctly remember having flirted with you one particular night."

Enjolras felt himself blush (what was _wrong_ with him, he never blushed!) and heard the other occupants of the room chuckle.

"You know Margo and so we come to our final introduction." Courfeyrac gestured impatiently and Enjolras reluctantly stepped forwards, somewhat surprised when Courfeyrac threw an affectionate arm about his shoulders.

"This is Julien Enjolras, the man who found you and in whose apartment you are now residing."

"I will forever be in your debt, M'sieur Enjolras." She began to say, but he cut her off.

"There is no reason for you to feel indebted to me, mademoiselle. Any of my friends would have acted the same in the situation. I am nothing special."

She looked a little surprised at his words. Perhaps he shouldn't have been so formal, and his tone maybe had been a little bit cold. Why had he spoken like that? It couldn't have been that he was nervous was it? He spoke to people every day, often large groups of people, and he didn't get nervous. Maybe because she was a woman? He had never conversed easily with women, he left that to Courfeyrac. Wait, why the hell was he analysing everything that he did around her?

He saw Combeferre raise an eyebrow at him in askance and realized that she was speaking to him while he had been… what exactly had he been doing?

"That may be the case, Monsieur Enjolras, but it was you who found me, not any of your friends. Even if you will not take my gratitude, it is given freely and I will find a way to repay the care that has been shown to me and will no doubt continue to be shown to me until I am well."

"I like you already," Coufeyrac stated, the mood in the room relaxing visibly. "Not many people will counter Enjolras." He all but threw himself into the one chair in the room as Margo was sat on the bed. "We have all introduced ourselves; I think it time that you returned the favour."

Joly appeared at that moment in the doorway, minus Grantaire. "He's on the sofa." He whispered to Enjolras, who scowled. Grantaire hung over on his sofa was the last thing he needed.

Joly had obviously heard what Coufeyrac had said, as he stepped into the room and said, "I agree with Coufeyrac, I prefer to know my patients names. Calling you 'mademoiselle' or 'the patient' really isn't a very good bed side manner."

She sat up straighter. "My name is…" she trailed off.

"Your name is…?" Combeferre prompted her.

Confused by her apparent reluctance, Coufeyrac attempted to reassure her. "It is quite alright mademoiselle; we will hold no judgement on your family name. We are more open minded than most when it comes to matters such as that." he added, risking a glance at Enjolras who was looking at the girl with… was that concern?

The girl tried to speak again, but now her voice held a hint of panic. "It is not that I am ashamed of my name M'sieur Coufeyrac," her gaze jumped from one student to the next, finally settling on Coufeyrac. "It is that I do not know what my name is." Seeing their confusion she added for good measure. "I don't know who I am!"

**A/N Dun Dun DUUUN! Sorry to keep you guys in suspense for another chapter, but I think if I stick the contents of the next chapter onto this one, it will be huge! I'm going to set off and keep writing now that I've posted this, but it may not be done by tonight. If it is I'll post it, if not…. Meh. **

**Love you guys, and remember, review! **


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: You know the drill. I am not Victor Hugo, big surprise. **

**A/N Sorry that it has been a couple of days, I had school work to do, then I had work all of Friday, and yesterday I had to exercise our horses (poor me I know). Just wanted to thank all of the people who have viewed! I am stunned at the number of views I've got, especially as this is my first story for Les Mis. Also thanks to the 5 people who have reviewed, the 8 people who have followed and the 4 who have favourited!**

**On with the story! **

**Chapter Six**

Following the girl's statement, the room had sat in stunned silence. Then, as one, the occupants of the room had turned to look at the two medical students.

"We know very little about the workings of the brain," Combeferre had said carefully, "especially if a traumatic incident is involved."

Joly, to be fair, managed to keep a fairly level head. "You, mademoiselle, are taking a small dose of laudanum," he pulled out another bottle from his medical bag, "and I am going to find Dr Dupont."

The doctor had arrived at the apartment block in record time, a panting Joly behind him, and had promptly shut himself up in the bed room with the girl and Margo.

Enjolras had gone back into his room to work, but had left his door open. Partly because the October sun that streaming through his window was surprisingly warm and partly because he wanted to hear the conversation his friends were having in the main living space.

"Can we keep her?" _That sounded like Courfeyrac. Only he could act like a girl with a missing memory was stray animal to be adopted._

"She's not a kitten, Courf." _Combeferre agreed with him._ _Great minds obviously do think alike._

"We still don't know her name, you know." _Joly sounded like he was rummaging through his bag for something._ The sound of Joly blowing his nose a moment later filtered through to his room. _Ah, handkerchief. _"I really don't know if I should be dealing with her injuries, not while I have a cold."

"Joly, you do not have a cold, and she may remember yet." _Combeferre again._

"I would not be so certain of that." _That sounded like Dr Dupont._

Enjolras stopped what he was doing and made his way out to join the others. Dr Dupont's face was grave as he faced the group.

"The mind is a complex thing that we do not truly understand; we probably never will understand it completely." He sighed heavily. "She has no memory of her name, age, place of birth, family, nothing. There doesn't seem to be any physical damage, she has no trouble with speech and her eyes and ears seem to work well, but she has no memory of the attack, which is probably a good thing. However, she also has no real memory of anything before that, which is not so good."

Dr Dupont left not after that, only adding a few instructions to Joly and Combeferre about making sure that her shoulder was kept clean and still so that the skin could knit back together, but that she should be able to get out of bed soon, even if it was just to sit in an armchair for the afternoon.

"She'll have to wear a sling, so will need someone to help her with washing and dressing, although Margo seems to have that side of things in hand."

Margo blushed slightly, the colour complementing her greying strawberry blond hair. "I had five children, all boys," she explained, "so I'm used to dealing with injuries." She paused. "Even if I've never had to deal with any injuries as severe as the young lady's."

After Dr Dupont had gone the group stood for moment, just processing everything that had happened.

"Well this is…um…" Enjolras began, but trailed off.

Courfeyrac perched himself on the arm of the sofa and absentmindedly ran his fingers through the sleeping Grantaire's hair. "We really can't keep calling her, 'her' or 'mademoiselle' or 'the young lady'." he pondered, "She needs a name."

"Just call her Patria and Apollo here will be more than happy." Grantaire grumbled from the sofa. "Don't stop with the hair thing, Courf, it's doing wonders for my headache."

"Let her pick her own name." suggested Margo. "You student types always make things twice as complicated than they actually are." Her scolding was good natured and the boys knew how fiercely protective she was of them. "I'll make sure she's presentable, and then you can all come and talk to her."

"I have work to do." Enjolras announced abruptly. The thought of going back into the room with the girl unsettled him for some reason, a knot of…something… forming in his stomach.

"We would expect nothing less of you, Fearless Leader." Courfeyrac chirped, jumping to his feet and leading the way into the little room, followed by Combeferre and Joly. The door shut with a click behind them.

Enjolras stood for a moment, head bent in thought, thoughts wandering back to the girl that lay only a few strides away from him…

"I never thought I would see the day that the marble lover of liberty fell in love." Although his voice was still slurred and his arm was placed protectively across his eyes, the humour could still be heard in Grantaire's voice.

Enjolras snapped out of his thoughts. "Shut up, wine cask!" he hissed and stalked to his room, shutting the door a little louder than necessary in the hope of aggravating Grantaire's headache.

_Line break here_

In the next room, Courfeyrac had explained to the girl their problem, and when she had agreed, the four had started reeling off names.

"Nicolette?"

"Sara?"

"Charlotte?"

"Christine?"

"Christina?"

"Adriana?"

"Marie?"

She shook her head.

"Colette, Mimi, Louise, Fifi?" Courfeyrac listed. He paused. "Lovely girls; Louise was my mistress for a good four months."

"Fifi?" she gave him an incredulous look.

"What?" he asked.

"You had a mistress named Fifi?" Combeferre asked.

"Of course not," he said defensively. "It was the name of her poodle."

"Do I look like a poodle?" she asked sardonically.

"Point taken. Ummm, Marguerite, Aimee, Francis…"

"Wait, what was that last one?" she asked.

"Francis?"

"No, the one before that."

"Aimee?"

"Aimee." She rolled the word around her mouth experimentally. "Aimee, I like it."

"It suits the situation," Margo said, "Aimee means 'loved', or 'beloved', and that is what you shall be here… Aimee."

Aimee smiled as her new name was used for the first time and was surprised to find tears pricking at her eyes. "I cannot thank you all enough."

The boys flushed and said it really wasn't necessary, but she continued.

"No, it is necessary. You saved my life, spent money that it looks like you can ill afford to lose on caring for me, and treated me with nothing be kindness. As soon as I am able, I will find a way to repay you."

No one in the room doubted her.

The days began to fall into a comfortable rhythm. Either Combeferre or Joly would come to the apartment mid-morning to check Aimee's injuries and replace the dressings if need be. Margo would then help her to wash and dress, a feat made difficult by the sling Aimee was forced to wear to support her shoulder.

Once she was dressed, Margo would leave her to her own devices in the apartment as she was quite capable of getting around. For Enjolras, it was still somewhat of a surprise to exit his room and almost walk into a young lady. The once or twice that it happened he would bow stiffly and hurry out of the apartment before she could engage him in any form of conversation. In fact, he avoided any form of contact with her, taking the meals that were forced upon him by Margo in his room and leaving Margo and Aimee to eat in the kitchen. Once, Aimee asked Margo what she had done to upset him, to which Margo replied, "Nothing. That is just how Enjolras is with most people."

One afternoon, three weeks after her 'naming day', as she called it, Aimee asked Courfeyrac the same question. Out of the small group she had contact with, he was the one she saw the most. He would appear at the apartment most days, ready with a smile and a good dose of quick wit to relieve the boredom. Courfeyrac very quickly found that she had a sharp mind, wit quick enough to match his and an excellent sense of dry humour. This particular afternoon they were sat reading a book together, Courfeyrac holding the book and turning the pages for her while she read aloud. Her reading was excellent, Courfeyrac thought, and really rather soothing…

He was just about to drop off to sleep when she asked him why Enjolras disliked her so much.

"I know I'm cluttering up his life, and probably upping his rent because there are two of us in here, but I try to help, to make things easier for him, but this thing," - here she gestured impatiently to her sling – "makes everything so difficult!"

"This is a very serious talk we are about to have, Aimee dearest, so we need the book out of the way," He very solemnly removed the book from his knee. "Ah, that's better, my knees were killing me. Firstly, Enjolras does not dislike you, you're not cluttering up his life and it's not about the rent." Courfeyrac knew for a fact that Margo had refused to ask for more money off Enjolras, but in the end, much to Enjolras' and Margo's displeasure, the Amis had clubbed together to pay for the rent of the extra room.

She looked at him sceptically, one eyebrow raised. "I suppose it's because he likes me so much that he ignores me?"

"Exactly!" He elaborated. "We call him 'The Marble Man' behind his back, but don't tell him that." He paused to think for a moment. "Enjolras is not good with emotions, hasn't been in all the time I've known him, never has been I don't think. He doesn't trust quickly or easily and he is truly terrible with women."

At this, Aimee looked surprised. She had expected Enjolras to have grissettes falling at his feet, in fact, she had been surprised that he hadn't brought any one home, but was convinced he had only done it so she wasn't uncomfortable. He nothing if not polite.

"He is also ridiculously focused; work is his life essentially."

"Jerome, you're not explaining yourself very well." Aimee sighed.

"What I'm trying to say is… it's not that he doesn't like you, it's that he finds it very difficult to show that he likes anyone. Don't take it personally, just be nice to him and show him that not all women are trying to get into his bed." This was accompanied by a cheeky wink.

Aimee flushed and hit him with her good arm. "How am I meant to be nice to him when he will barely look at me?"

"Ah," Courfeyrac wriggled his eyebrows suggestively, "I just happen to have a plan!"

_Line break here_

When Enjolras came in from classes that evening, he was surprised to find Aimee still awake and sat in the armchair by the window.

"_Bon nuit_, Enjolras." She greeted him politely.

"Mademoiselle." He inclined his head and headed for his room but her voice stopped him.

"Combeferre said that the sling should be able to come off soon." She stood and walked towards him carefully, something in her hand.

"That is excellent news." He saw that her hair was growing back from where it had been cut. It just brushed the top of her ear, but the difference in length barely noticeable as Margo brushed her hair in a middle parting, the thick curtain of hair concealing the worst of the damage.

She stretched out her good arm, a book held in her hand. "I hope you didn't mind me borrowing it. Jero… Courfeyrac said you wouldn't mind."

It was a book on the French Revolution. He took it cautiously. "What did you think of it?"

"I agree with almost all of it."

He looked at her quizzically.

"I think that they had the right idea. The problem was that they went about it wrong."

"Why do you say that?" He was genuinely interested now. He knew that he had things to do, he always had things to do, but he couldn't bear to move away.

In the end, they sat and talked until the candle ran out, and the pale fingers of dawn were starting to stretch across the sky and as Enjolras made his way to his classes the next day, he realized that he had enjoyed every minute of it.

**A/N Sorry if this seems like a bit of a filler chapter; I'll try and get Aimee out of the apartment soon. I'll just say this now; Courfeyrac and Aimee are JUST FRIENDS! I will not be pairing them.**

**I'm back to college on Monday (crying) so my updates may be further apart. Please review!**

**Until next time mon amis! **


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: I'm not Victor Hugo. Deal with it.**

**A/N Sorry for the wait, I've had a bunch of work to do for college. **

**Anyways I thought it was time for a bit of Aimee's POV. Enjoy **

**Chapter Seven**

The comforting smell of freshly brewed coffee permeated throughout the small apartment and chilly sunshine shone weakly through the windows. Aimee smiled as she pushed open the door of Enjolras' room. He was sprawled on the bed, blond curls in a muddle, and a ferocious scowl on his face. She smiled to herself. Whoever was annoying him in his dreams was in for it. Stepping carefully, so as not to wake him, she crossed the room and placed a large cup of coffee on his desk before tiptoeing back out again. It was now late November and the pair of them had reached an understanding, albeit a slightly uncomfortable one on his part.

As her shoulder was getting better and stronger, she had begun helping around the apartment, determined to try and pay back the kindness that had been shown to her. The furniture shone brighter, the floor was cleaner, and the books were no longer in as much disarray. Oh, how she loved those books. She had a sharp and inquisitive mind and was more than willing to put it to good use, steadily making her way through every book in the apartment. She had even, with the help of Courfeyrac and a very large dictionary, started to learn Latin.

As exams were coming up at university, Enjolras was usually too busy to notice anything she had done to the apartment. On a particularly boring day, she had tidied his room and he still hadn't noticed.

However, she had discovered the one way to get him to notice her attempts at helping.

She had woken early one morning, and as the apartment was so cold, had decided to see if Enjolras had made any coffee before he had left for classes. As she entered the kitchen, she had spotted a very familiar dark blue jacket hung over the back of a chair. That clue, coupled with the muffled curses coming from Enjolras' room, led her to realize that he had overslept and was going to have to skip his usual morning coffee. That, she could remedy.

When he had exited his room a few minutes later, trying to tie his cravat and scrub ink off his cheek all at once, he found a steaming cup of excellently brewed coffee sat on the table. Hence, the coffee ritual had begun.

The coffee done for the morning, Aimee returned to her room and began to dress. Courfeyrac had promised to take her out today for a walk around the city; the first time she had been outside properly in two months. She began to fasten up the back of the dress that Margo had found for her, a nicely made woollen dress in a deep green colour, but found that her newly healed shoulder was still tender and couldn't bend that far. She sighed in frustration. Margo wasn't around, so there was only one person she could ask.

Line break here

"Enjolras?" She was stood just outside his door, holding the front of the dress up.

"Don't come in!" he shouted, "I'm not…decent."

She chuckled at the hint of panic in his voice. "I already have with your coffee, remember?" She took a bracing breath. "Look, I need your help."

Silence from beyond the door. Then, "Give me a minute!"

She stood, shivering slightly at the temperature of the apartment. A minute or two later he opened the door, only to shut it again just as quickly when he saw what she needed help with.

"Oh, come on, Enjolras!" she groaned, "I know that this is really awkward, but I need you to help me!"

"Find Margo, I've got things to do!" His tone was harsh.

With a huff of annoyance, Aimee pushed the door open and stood in the doorway, hands on hips. The back of her dress gaped open, showing the honey toned skin beneath and Enjolras desperately tried to look anywhere but at her.

"Look, Courfeyrac promised to take me out into the city for the first time today now that Joly said my sling can come off and I told Margo that I could get into the dress by myself so she went to the market, but it turns out I can't so I REALLY NEED YOUR HELP!"

He sighed, defeated. "What do you need me to do?"

Her smile lit up the room. "Could you please finish hooking me up?"

She could feel his hands shaking slightly as he fastened up the dress, but decided not to mention it as he seemed uncomfortable enough as it was.

"All done." He said, his voice level and detached, completely at odds to nervousness he had displayed a minute ago.

"_Merci_, Enjolras." She flipped her hair off her shoulder from where she had been holding it out of the way. "There is some bread and cheese and fruit in the kitchen and Courfeyrac and I will pick some more food up at the market." She gave him another smile and then left, shutting the door gently behind her.

After she had gone, Enjolras sat carefully at his desk, wrapped his hands around the warm mug, and tried to convince himself that his hands were shaking because he was cold.

Line break here

The air was cool and crisp and Aimee breathed it in with relish. After spending nearly two months in an apartment with nothing to do but read, just the simple act of walking down a street was a blessing.

Courfeyrac had her arm looped protectively through his and insisted that they keep the pace slow. "You haven't walked any great distance for nearly two months, Aimee _chèri_; don't try to run before you can walk."

She told him about the incident with her dress and her friend's laughter bounced off the buildings and drew smiles from passers-by.

"Poor Enjolras, I can only imagine the colour his face went…" his laughter trailed off as he felt Aimee stiffen. "Aimee _chèri_, are you alright?"

Aimee barely heard him. Her head ached and she felt dizzy. Visions flashed through her mind's eye, strange, confusing images, that made no sense and but that she knew were memories, her memories. Her breathing quickened and her grip on Courfeyrac's arm tightened subconsciously. When her head cleared, she found she was sat on a bench next to Courfeyrac, who was looking very concerned.

"I'm fine." She reassured him. "Just a dizzy spell."

"You're as bad as Enjolras." he scoffed, "You nearly fainted on me and you say it was a 'dizzy spell'."

"I… remembered things." She admitted slowly. "Not details, or names or anything, but…" she stopped, suddenly inexplicably frustrated. "I know they're memories, and that they're _my_ memories, but I don't remember them!"

"Hey, steady." He rubbed a soothing circle on her back. "If you are going to remember, you'll remember in your own good time." His gaze suddenly shifted to across the street. "Well, look who is coming over. Jehan! Over here you hopeless romantic!"

**A/N Sorry for the cliff-hanger, but I thought I'd better dedicate a whole chapter to Aimee meeting the Amis. I'm sorry if the healing time for her injuries wasn't very realistic, but I had to get the story moving.**

**I am amazed and slightly humbled by the response to this story. Please give me any feedback, questions or ideas you may have in your reviews.**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N Thank you to all you people who have viewed, I'm over the 900 mark now, how crazy is that!**

**Enjoy!**

**Chapter Eight**

"_Hey, steady." He rubbed a soothing circle on her back. "If you are going to remember, you'll remember in your own good time." His gaze suddenly shifted to across the street. "Well, look who is coming over. Jehan! Over here you hopeless romantic!" _

Aimee glanced up to see a slight young man making his way over to them, a beaming smile on his face.

"Courfeyrac! What are you doing over this side of town?" The young man, obviously Jehan, caught sight of her and gave another smile. "Who is this?" he frowned suddenly and leant in to speak quietly in Courfeyrac's ear, but Aimee heard what he said.

"I thought your mistress was that Mirabelle creature? The redhead with the too loud laughter."

"She is," Courfeyrac responded, "well, occasionally. No, this is my good friend Aimee…" he stopped as he realised that Aimee had no last name. "Aimee, this is Jean Prouvaire, our resident poet. We call him Jehan." He finished weakly.

Jehan's light blue eyes widened, and a look of ecstatic joy came onto his face. "You're _that _Aimee!" he exclaimed, in what sounded suspiciously like a squeal. "Courfeyrac and Joly and Combeferre have told us all about you!"

Aimee felt a strange stab of disappointment that Enjolras hadn't talked about her, but brushed it aside. Why should he care? She smiled in return and offered her hand to shake. "Courfeyrac has told me a little about you, has told me a little about all of his friends…" she trailed off as a small furry head popped out of Jehan's satchel. "Um, Monsieur Prouvaire? There appears to be some sort of animal in your bag."

"Oh!" he reached into the bag and pulled out a long, wriggling, pale grey creature. "Please, call me Jehan. I keep looking around for my father when people call me Monsieur Prouvaire! The animal in my bag is my ferret, Ophelia."

Courfeyrac muttered something that sounded suspiciously like 'spawn of the devil', but as his facial expression didn't change, Aimee was sure she had misheard.

"Oh," was the only answer she could come up with. So, Courfeyrac's friend keeps a ferret in his bag and preferred to go by his first name? Okay, she could handle that.

Jehan delicately placed the ferret around his shoulders like some strange, living article of clothing. "I trust your injuries are healing well, mademoiselle?"

She smiled briefly. "I have been blessed with excellent care."

Ophelia the ferret squirmed slightly as her owner tickled her under her chin. "Will you be joining us at the Café Musain tonight, Mademoiselle Aimee? I believe Enjolras has used you as an example in his speech tonight; it's sure to be excellent, his true life inspired ones always are."

"He what? The where?"

The poet's eyes widened.

"They haven't told you…? Oh, you _have_ to come now, I'm sure Enjolras won't mind, and all of the Amis will be thrilled to finally meet you, we've all heard so much about you!"

"The who?" Aimee was very confused now, and her head was starting to ache and spin again.

"The Les Amis de la Abiasse, we're a group that fight for the rights of the people, for the rights of the _miserables_, of the…"

"I'll talk to Enjolras when we get back." Courfeyrac diffused the increasingly enthusiastic poet, "I'm sure he will agree."

"I hope to see you this evening then," Jehan then surprised her by pressing a shy kiss to the back of her hand. "Enchantè, mademoiselle." He then sauntered off, the ferret still draped around his shoulders.

"I hate that damn ferret." Courfeyrac muttered, - _obviously she had not misheard his earlier statement_ - then rose to his feet, pulling her up after him. "We promised Enjolras to go to the market I believe?"

Aimee nodded. "But don't think you get off that easy, Jerome Courfeyrac." she scolded. "It appears you have forgotten to tell me rather a lot about your friends, and we have plenty of time."

Line break here

"No." Enjolras' face seemed to be carved from marble.

"But why?" Aimee asked hotly. "Why can I not meet the Amis? Why can't I come and listen to you speak? I agree with many of your points, we've discussed them numerous times. Why can't I come with you tonight?"

"We do not allow women in the meetings." He didn't look at her, but he felt the irritation coming off her in waves.

"A little hypocritical don't you think?" her voice was cold.

He finally turned to face her, and she was pleased to see some emotion on his face, even if it was irritation, and his eyes were like chips of blue glass. "Care to explain your reasoning behind this accusation?"

"You speak of a new free world where everyone is equal and everything is fair and just, and then you ban women from your meetings? When they have just as much right to hear your message as men do?"

Her green eyes flashed and Enjolras desperately wanted to say that the reason she couldn't come was that if she did, he wouldn't be able to put two words together in a coherent line of thought, let alone speak about freedom, equality, and brotherhood. Instead he just shrugged coldly. "Women will not be of as much use or influence as men. I need people who will be militant should the need arise, who will be able to shoot a musket or wield a sword. A woman cannot do that."

"I seem to recall that Boudicca the Celtic Queen led an army into battle." Her reply was whip sharp. "In the Bible, Jael, a mere woman, was the one to kill the enemy leader, not a trained soldier. Besides, how many of you _boys_" –she almost sneered the word- "knows how to 'shoot a musket or wield a sword 'should the need arise?" she threw his words back at him like daggers. "Also, it is highly unlikely you will be fighting tonight, hence why I have accused you of hypocrisy against your ideals."

Enjolras may have been reluctant about speaking in front of her, but he also knew that she was right. He wasn't being fair and, even though he hated to be wrong, he hated to be unfair more. So when evening rolled around and he and Courfeyrac approached the café, they were accompanied by Aimee. To be fair, she only looked slightly smug, and she didn't rub Enjolras' defeat in his face. She didn't really need to, as Courfeyrac was doing it very well for her.

Line break here

Aimee wasn't exactly sure what she was expecting the Café Musain to look like, but she was very happy with how it turned out to be.

A map of Revolutionary France was pinned to the wall, surrounded by sketches of various buildings and people. Several tables and plenty of chairs were scattered around the room, and a battered looking piano sat it the corner. The room looked bashed, unremarkable, and was one of the most comfortable places Aimee could remember being, though that wasn't really saying much. As soon as the three of them entered the room, Enjolras stalked off a table in the far corner and began arranging a small barricade of books and notes around himself.

Aimee quirked an eyebrow at his behaviour.

"Enjolras isn't the most social person," Courfeyrac confided as if he seen her thoughts. "But that's alright, because the rest of us more than make up for that!" He swiftly guided her to the middle of the room where three tables had been pulled together to make room for everyone and an extremely vocal game of cards was going on.

"_Mon amis_!" Courfeyrac shouted, successfully drawing the attention of the entire room. "May I introduce you all to Aimee?"

With so many pairs of eyes on her, all male, Aimee felt a flutter of nerves. Dipping her head in formal greeting, she could almost feel the heat radiating off her cheeks.

"I propose a toast!" a slurred voice called from the corner. Searching for the location of the voice, Aimee spotted a dark haired young man in a fashionable emerald green waistcoat, who was, to put it politely, drunk off his face. She had met him briefly on the morning of her 'naming day'. What had his name been again? Something with an R? She was pulled from her thoughts when he continued to speak. The rest of the room had dutifully raised their glasses.

"To Aimee, the only woman to have done the seemingly impossible and got into the bed of our fair Apollo!"

A horrified silence fell over the room and everyone rapidly lowered their glasses. Aimee meanwhile, though a bit embarrassed, was mostly confused. Who the hell was Apollo? Before she could ask anyone, she noticed the colour of Enjolras' face, and the pieces fell into place.

'_The nickname suits him rather well actually,' _she thought to herself.

Apparently, Enjolras didn't seem to agree, with either the nickname or the drunk's comment, and Aimee knew she had to defuse the situation before ugly words started flying, or worse, fists. Thankfully, the drunk's name came to her and she was able to speak to him directly.

"I'm sorry, Grantaire, but Apol… I mean Enjolras," she quickly amended when she caught sight of the blond's furious glare, "slept in the other room. Therefore the basis of your toast is null and void."

A deep chuckle sounded from the table next to her and she turned to see a man that could only be described as the human equivalent of a brick wall, raising his glass to her.

"I salute you, Mademoiselle. No one has put Grantaire in his place for far too long, well, not without threats to certain body parts being imparted. I am Bahoral, Sebastian Bahoral."

"Please, just call me Aimee." She smiled slightly. "I would partake in your mode of address in that you use each other's surnames, but I don't know what my surname is, so let's stick to Aimee."

"You need to find beaten up girl's more often, Enjolras, if they're all going to be like this!" Bahoral called, but froze as he registered what he had just said.

"Bahoral!" Joly hissed, "How could you be so insensitive! Actually that's a stupid question because you're always insensitive.."

"Oh, go fly away on your four _ls,_ Jolllly."

Joly flushed and started to gesture with his cane, but Aimee cut him off by raising her hand. "I've managed to forget just about everything else, I'm sure I can forget your unfortunate slip of the tongue."

"A gracious heart, coupled with a great mind, housed in a graceful body," Jehan murmured, scribbling something down in a notebook.

The atmosphere lightened considerably then, and someone politely offered her their chair. "I am Alexandre Feuilly, a pleasure to meet you, Aimee." Feuilly's black hair was cut close to his head, and his grey eyes looked slightly guarded.

"Feuilly? The fan maker?"

His eyes hardened. "Just because it is poorly paid work does not mean my life should be defined by it!" he said shortly before stalking off to sit with Enjolras.

Aimee looked around the table with wide eyes. "I didn't mean to insult him," she whispered, "I was going to say that Courfeyrac had showed me one and that I thought it was one of the most beautiful things I had ever seen."

"Feuilly will come round," Jehan reassured her, "He can just be irrationally sensitive about his job and his origins sometimes, especially around a beautiful woman like yourself."

Aimee muttered a slightly flustered "Thank you" but was saved from replying by the arrival of two new members, a tall, somber looking young man, and a slight girl with a mass of dark hair.

"Marius!" Bahoral called, "Come and meet someone!"

While the girl situated herself at a table in the corner, Marius came to the table. His hair was the colour of cinnamon, and a heavy dusting of freckles gave him a boyish look, completely at odds with the world weary look in his hazel eyes.

"Aimee, this is my ex-roommate and best friend, Marius Pontmercy." Courfeyrac threw an arm around his shoulders, a difficult task since he was sitting down.

"Courfeyrac has told me a lot about you," Marius said, his voice and smile soft.

"He has told me a bit about you as well," Aimee responded, "He seems to be rather good at gossiping about other people, doesn't he?"

"I would say he has a definite talent for it." Marius answered, his eyes sparking briefly with humour.

"Um, so called friends of mine," Courfeyrac waved his arms, "I'm right here!"

"Would your companion mind if I went and introduced myself?" Aimee gestured to the girl in the corner.

"Eponine can be an… interesting character, but she shouldn't mind. She's not much of a conversationalist though."

Enjolras watched as Aimee rose and crossed the rapidly filling room to the corner table. She seemed to be handling herself admirably, especially with that comment of Grantaire's.

"Don't ruin the evening by punching him."

His head jerked around to see Feuilly watching him. "It's discomforting when you do that," he muttered crossly, making some final amendments to that night's speech. "Understand what people are thinking by reading their faces."

The fan maker didn't bother to reply, instead watching the two women in the corner. "So, Joly happened to mention something earlier about you being compared to an angel?"

Enjolras nearly snapped his pen. "At least no one will pay Joly any mind when he says he being poisoned," he growled.

"My, you're in a good mood," Feuilly smirked, but sobered quickly. "Not that I can talk, I just about took her head off when she mentioned the fans… god we're a cheerful lot aren't we? R insinuates that she slept with you, Bahoral accidently brings up her attack, Joly nearly starts fighting him because of it, I snap at her for no reason at all, and you've sat in the corner all evening, growling like a rabid bear. Why did she want to come here again?"

"To hear me speak." Enjolras answered, gathering his papers (and his wits) and stepping up onto the table. "My friends, my brothers!"

**A/N Hope you guys liked this and my characterizations weren't too OOC. The next chapter will probably be a continuation and/or look back of this meeting but no promises.**

**For those of you craving some Eponine content, I'm thinking of doing a fiction of this story from her point of view. It would give more detail of what happened with Marius and Cosette and my version of what happened afterwards, but following the plot of this fiction. Anyone interested?**

**Please leave reviews, I like to know what you think! **


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: Same as always, I'm not Victor Hugo**

**A/N This is my favourite chapter that I've written so far. Hope you like it too! **

**Chapter Nine**

When Marius had said that Eponine wasn't much of a conversationalist, he hadn't been joking. So far all Aimee had managed to get from the girl was a glare and some three word answers. This is what the conversation had been like so far.

"Hi, I'm Aimee."

"Eponine."

Silence

"Um, so Marius didn't say what you do…"

"I'm a seamstress."

"Oh, right."

Silence

"So, how long have you known the Amis?"

Shrug

Aimee was saved from trying to formulate another question by Enjolras, who stepped up onto a table and began to speak.

"My friends, my brothers!"

Beside her, Eponine snorted with quiet laughter. "He can be so overdramatic sometimes." She muttered.

"Oh, so it's not just me who thinks that?" Aimee teased and was rewarded with a hint of a smile.

Actually, Aimee was very impressed with Enjolras' speech. The coldness and lack of social ability that he normally showed melted away as he spoke. Despite his comments earlier that day about women not being able to fight, as he spoke Aimee felt that she would battle to the gates of hell and back again for him…

'_No, not for him, for his cause,'_ she silently amended.

"…that is why we must fight! Fight for a system where the police protect the people, not abuse their position of power and fail to protect those who need them most! This is what we must fight for! _Vive l'France!_" Enjolras stepped down from his table amid enthusiastic clapping and cries of '_Vive l'France_!', and just for a moment, Aimee saw the Enjolras that was normally hidden away, trapped behind his mask of marble.

His blue eyes were bright and clearer than a summer sky, his pale, normally aloof looking face flushed slightly from the passion of his speech. But best of all was the smile that danced on his lips. In all the time Aimee had been staying with Enjolras, she had _never_ seen him smile, not once, and for some inexplicable reason, she felt a yearning to make him smile, or even just see him smile, every day for the rest of her life.

"He has that effect on people." came a dry toned voice from beside her.

"Hm?" She glanced at Eponine.

"Enjolras has that effect on people. The 'I will rise with the people and fight with you until the earth is free' effect."

Aimee shrugged, only slightly embarrassed that she had been caught out. "You don't seem to be affected. But, you know, he speaks well, knows how to work a crowd."

"But that's all he ever does!" Eponine's voice was suddenly strong. "You asked me how long I have known the Amis. I have known them for over two years. That's two years of listening to them talk about saving the people, two years of listening to the plans of bourgeois pretty boys of how they will change the world, and two years of _nothing happening_!" The girl slumped back, seemingly exhausted by her outburst.

Aimee was surprised. Eponine had seemed apathetic about the whole 'revolutionary' thing, so the fact that she had an opinion, and a strong one at that, was somewhat of a shock.

"So why do you keep coming back?" Aimee asked softly, trying to understand the defiant yet vulnerable girl before her.

"I come back for Marius." She admitted finally. "If he didn't come here, neither would I."

"So how long have you been together?" Aimee asked tentatively. The tenderness was plain to see on Eponine's face whenever she looked at Marius and Aimee assumed they were a couple. Evidently she had assumed wrong as Eponine's face shuttered instantly and her eyes filled with an emotion Aimee couldn't fathom. Guilt? Longing?

"We are not 'together', I am simply his friend." Eponine stated flatly.

"But you wish to be more." Aimee added softly, her heart going out the girl, who was probably not much younger than her.

"If wishes were horses beggars would ride." She answered with a shrug.

The door opened and two more people tumbled into the packed room. One was holding a bloodied rag to his nose, and the other, a boy, was supporting him.

Eponine gestured to the pair. "The one with the bloody nose is Bossuet, the unluckiest person I've ever met. The boy is Gavroche, my brother and I'd better go and see what has happened so excuse me." She then scurried off to investigate and the Amis gathered around the pair with raised voices and questions.

Seeing no way in which she could help, Aimee glanced around the room, her eyes coming to rest on the piano in the corner. A minute later, she found herself seated in front of it, her fingers resting lightly on the slightly yellowed keys.

Could she play? She had no idea and simply pressed a key with her finger, the ringing note striking a chord within her. She watched as her hands began to move over the keys, slowly at first, but gradually with more confidence. With her eyes closed, she let her fingers remember what her mind could not and as with earlier that day images swirled behind her closed lids.

_A room filled with bright sunlight that reflects off the polished wood of a piano. Stretching to reach the pedals of the piano, her legs too short, another person pressing the pedals as she plays the notes, a sweet, high voice singing something in a foreign language, warm strong arms and the scent of tobacco, now sadness, dust, noise, other arms around her that are too tight and unwelcome, shouting, blood, cold eyes staring at her, rain, running, the flash of a blade, more blood, her blood, pain…_

Her fingers faltered on the keys and she stopped playing with a gasp, her hands flying to her temples as if to stop the flow of disjointed memories. A moment later and warm hands were placed tentatively on her shaking shoulders.

"Aimee?" It was Enjolras. She felt the warmth of his hands through her dress and resisted the urge to lean back against him.

"Aimee? Are you alright?"

"I…I think so." She turned to face the room and found only the Amis and Eponine were left and they all staring at her. "What?"

"Well, aside from the fact you looked like you were going to faint on me again…" Courfeyrac began.

"Again?" squeaked Joly, rushing over to take her pulse and check her temperature. Aimee found that she missed the feel of Enjolras' hands.

"…you somehow know how to play the piano."

"I…" she batted Joly's fluttering hands away, "I don't know how, but I just can." A sudden wave of vertigo hit her as she stood up and she involuntarily grabbed for the piano. Instead, she felt Enjolras steady her.

"I'm taking you back to the apartment right now." His tone brooked no argument, and for once, Aimee didn't feel like giving one. She sat with the Amis while Enjolras gathered his things and was genuinely touched by how worried they were.

"You hardly know me, why are you all so kind?" the question slipped out before she could catch it.

Jehan looked as if he was going to cry as he took a winter violet from the button hole of his garishly coloured coat and tucked it into her hair. "Why shouldn't we be?"

The simpleness of the answer stuck with Aimee as Enjolras walked back to the apartment with her. Occasionally, she would flinch at a noise in the dark and move unconsciously towards him. But Jehan's words still stuck with her, replayed in her mind as she bid Enjolras goodnight, and stayed with her as she got into her bed.

The only thing that drove it from her mind was the nightmare.

**A/N Please review, follow and favourite! It makes me happy! **


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: I thought I'd told you, I'm not… oh never mind.**

**I also don't own the song I use, Going Home by Mary Fahl.**

**A/N Wow, this is my longest chapter to date! Oh, and whoop, whoop! Into double digits now people! As always, thanks to those who have read, reviewed, followed and favourited!**

**Quick shout out to ****The World About To Dawn**** for your encouraging reviews! **

**Oh, for those of you who were confused about the two people who came in at the end of the last chapter, it was Bossuet (who had had another accident with a set of stairs) and he was being helped by Gavroche. Just thought I'd clear that up. **

**Chapter Ten**

The first scream to rip through the quiet of the dark apartment made Enjolras start awake, his heart pounding in his chest, his breath coming in startled gasps.

The second scream spurred him into action, scrambling out of bed, snatching the lit candle from his desk and rummaging through his desk drawer for the loaded pistol he kept there.

The third scream, this one mingled with a sob, found him opening Aimee's door, gun raised in readiness, the candle lighting the way.

The sight before him made him lower the gun and a surge of sympathy flood his heart. Aimee was tangled in the blankets, her hands flailing as if to fight off some invisible attacker, breath was coming in fits and starts as she repeated the same words over and over.

"Papa! No, please don't hurt him, don't hurt my Papa! Let him go, please let him go! Don't touch me! No, don't! He hasn't done anything! Get off me! No, _Papa!_" She shot upright in the bed, her breath coming in huge gulps, tears running freely down her face. When she caught sight of Enjolras, pistol clasped loosely in his hands, she let out another shriek.

"Aimee! It's all right, it's just me." He put the candle down on her nightstand.

She scrubbed furiously at her cheeks, her senses returning to her as she mumbled, "Wh… what are you do… doing in here?" Her hair was a tangled mess down her back, and her too big nightdress (borrowed from Margo) had slipped off one shoulder.

He stepped forwards carefully, his senses for once, ironically, not going into overdrive. "You had a nightmare, Aimee, you screamed."

She nodded, obviously still disturbed, and then spotted the pistol. "Wh…why have y…you got a..a gun?"

"I thought someone might have got in."

"Oh. Well…I… I think I'm… I think I'm okay now." She didn't look up at him and obviously wanted him to leave, but for once Enjolras felt he had to stay a bit longer.

"Are you sure you're alright?" He sat carefully on the edge of the bed, keeping his eyes focused on hers to avoid making the situation any more uncomfortable that it already was. "Can I get you anything?"

She shook her head, still not meeting his gaze, looking so heartbreakingly vulnerable that he had to repress the urge to wrap his arms around her and whisper in her ear that she was safe with him, and hold until she fell asleep in his embrace.

He mentally shook himself. _Lose the sentimentality, Julien. Sentimentality doesn't help anybody._

She shook her head. "You should go back to sleep, you get precious little as it is, and I'll try to do the same."

Reluctantly, he rose and picked up the candle. "If you're sure…_bon nuit, _Aimee."

"_Bon nuit_," she whispered, her glance darting around the darkened room, obviously a lot more upset than she was letting on.

He paused by the door. "Do you want me to leave the candle?" He knew he had said the right thing when relief flooded her features and she nodded. He put it well away from any flammable objects and left the door ajar to keep a steady oxygen flow.

"_Bon nuit, angè_." he whispered when he was certain that she wouldn't hear him. "Sweet dreams."

* * *

She was quiet and jumpy most of the next day, even when Courfeyrac and Jehan came to visit, complete with the offer of a partial tour of the city.

When she declined, and then retired to her room saying she was a little tired, Courfeyrac cast a worried glance at Enjolras.

"Is she alright? We didn't tire her out too much last night did we?"

"She didn't sleep too well," Enjolras said, rubbing his own tired eyes, "she had a nightmare… Prouvaire!" he snapped, "Get that _thing _off my sofa please! It's already battered enough without her chewing enormous holes in the upholstery."

Jehan gathered the offending Ophelia into his arms, a hurt look on his face. "She was only getting comfortable," he protested, "It's her way of showing she likes you."

"And I suppose the time she shredded three pages of my copy of Plato's '_The Republic'_ was another way of her saying she liked me?"

"It was an accident, and I bought you a new copy." Jehan flounced (something only Jehan could get away with while remaining to look dignified) to the door of Aimee's room before sniffing haughtily and going in.

"Do you think Jehan would notice if we killed it and got it stuffed?" Courfeyrac questioned, appearing to flick idly through a book, though Enjolras knew his friend was actually very deep in thought.

This observation was proved right when a minute or two later he spoke up. "What did she say last night in her nightmare exactly?"

So Enjolras told him the events of the night before.

* * *

Jehan tapped gently on the door of Aimee's room. Hearing a quiet _'come in'_, he sniffed haughtily at his friends before disappearing inside.

Aimee was curled up miserably in the chair by the window, a book open on her lap although she obviously wasn't reading.

"Monsieur Prouvaire." She gave him a half-hearted smile.

"I told you," he chastised gently, "call me Jehan. Friends do not address each other so formally."

She gave a half smile of acknowledgement, but said nothing.

"Do you want to talk about it? It always helps me when I've had a nightmare." He ran his hands down the length of Ophelia's body, earning himself little squeaks of delight from the ferret.

She closed the book and turned to face him. "How did you know?" she asked softly.

"As a poet I am deeply in touch with the disturbances in the universe that negative emotions and nightmares create."

She looked at him sceptically.

"Alright, Enjolras may have mentioned it before I left the room, but I still would have realised something was wrong!"

She smiled gently at him, before looking down at her hands that were knotted in her lap. "I don't remember a lot of it," Her voice was hesitant. "It wasn't in order and didn't make a lot of sense." She shuddered, reliving the nightmare.

_Men, men with dark eyes and dark souls bursting in through the door, gleaming knives, shouted words, a scream of pain uttered by someone she knows and loves but _cannot remember _and _cannot help_, words whispered in her ear by a soft voice, a cruel voice, a voice as cold as ice, hands skimming her sides, fighting, running, that voice speaking words that chill her to the bone "I will find you."…_

"Hey," Jehan was now knelt at her feet and she realised she was shaking. He closed his small, almost effeminate hands over hers, his warmth soothing her cold hands. "You're here now. You're not back there, and as long as any of us are breathing, no one will hurt you again. Understand?"

Not trusting her voice, she settled for nodding shakily.

"All of us are here for you whenever you need us. You are practically an honorary Ami. In fact," He dropped his voice to a stage whisper, "I think every man in the room last night fell a little in love with you."

She laughed, her earlier troubled thoughts banished by the light and joy that the poet in front of her carried within him. "Oh! I've just remembered!" She jumped up, startling Ophelia who was investigating under the bed, and picked up the winter violet that he had given her the night before. She tucked it into her hair with a radiant smile and grabbed her coat, before bouncing out of the room.

* * *

After Enjolras had told the events of the night before, Courfeyrac sat in silence, his hand unconsciously playing with one of his dark curls as he thought.

"It's quite obvious now that something very bad happened to her before she was attacked and before we found her and by the sounds of it her father was on the receiving end of something nasty as well." He paused. "Do you think we should call Dr Dupont back?"

Enjolras shook his head. "He didn't seem to know all that much last time."

"Do you think she'll want to try and find her family?" Courfeyrac's normally playful brown eyes were dark and pensive.

It was a topic that no one had really wanted to bring up, because they felt that if they did, the little bubble of a world that they had built around themselves and this girl would disappear in a second.

Enjolras was saved from answering by the sound of Aimee's laughter. He felt almost relieved at having to drop the subject yet again. "She sounds happier."

The change in Aimee was visible as she came bouncing into the room, a pleased looking Jehan just behind her. Neither of the men were quite sure what the poet had said or done, but they were more than happy to see Aimee acting like herself again.

"Does the offer of a tour still stand?" Despite the dark circles under her eyes, she looked happier and much more relaxed, a faded winter violet threaded into her hair.

"Your wish is my command, mon chèri." Courfeyrac bowed low before formally replacing his hat and offering Aimee his arm. "You're welcome to join us, Enjolras, if you would like?"

"I have things to be doing." His tone was brisk and he didn't even glance up from the textbook he was reading, meaning that he didn't see the flicker of disappointment in Aimee's eyes.

"We'll see at the Musain later, yes?" Jehan called as the trio exited the apartment.

Despite saying that he had work to do, and in fact he did, Enjolras found he couldn't concentrate. It wasn't the thoughts of Aimee's nightmare or even that eventually they would have to start looking for relatives that distracted him. It was the realization that she herself distracted him that was distracting him.

The normal, sane Enjolras who lived only for the Revolution and didn't go to metaphorical pieces over a woman; that Enjolras would get rid of a distraction as soon as he realised it was one. But in this case, he was faced with two quite glaring problems. One, he couldn't very well just 'get rid of' a still fragile young woman who depended on him, and two…

Well, two was the problem that needed analysing. Because the second problem was that he didn't want her go.

* * *

Aimee was having a marvellous time. Despite it being a grey and quite chilly November day, she felt warmed by the glow of happiness deep down inside of her. She had pushed all thoughts of her nightmare out of her head at Jehan's insistence and revelled in the company of her two handsome, amusing, and attentive guides.

They went window shopping in the posh parts of town, laughed at the rich people and bought pastries and burning cups of hot chocolate on their way to the Musain. Courfeyrac showed her the university that he (occasionally) studied at and she gazed in awe at the huge building. She could almost feel the knowledge flowing off the very stones.

The only dark spot in the day was on the approach to the café. Although neither of her friends said anything, Aimee felt an unpleasant chill as they passed an alley way and knew without a doubt that it was where they had found her all those weeks ago. She glanced down it quickly and instantly wished she hadn't as images suddenly assaulted her memory.

_Rank breath, rough hands on her body, the taste of blood in her mouth as she bit his lip, satisfaction quickly turning to pain as he hit her, screaming, lashing out, pain, always pain, another scream, blood, a dull thud as her head struck the wall, footsteps, an angelic face creased with worry, darkness, those words, always those words, "I will find you"…._

"Aimee?" Jehan sounded uncertain and she realised she had stopped walking. She tried to explain but couldn't find the words, but it was alright, because Courfeyrac understood and instead of saying anything, pulled her into a gentle but reassuring hug. She tensed for a moment, the bad memories overtaking her, memories of other arms, unwelcome arms, but then she relaxed into the first real hug he had ever given her.

It was the kind of hug where there was no space between them and her face was buried in the crook of his neck and she felt _so safe_. Then Jehan tried to join in along with Ophelia who was being worn as a scarf again and it all descended into silliness and light-hearted giggles. As they entered the café, she had a strange and sudden urge to see Enjolras and an even stranger urge to hug him the same way Courfeyrac had hugged her. However, when they arrived in the top room, faces glowing from the cold, he was secreted away in his corner with Combeferre and didn't look like he wanted to be disturbed, his seemingly permanent scowl firmly in place.

She sighed slightly in disappointment and turned to sit with the Amis, but found her way blocked by Feuilly. He looked uncomfortable, and was twisting his workman's cap between calloused and paint stained fingers.

"I wanted to apologise." He finally blurted out. "I was… harsh… with you last night and didn't give you a chance to really speak before judging you. I'm sorry."

Her heart throbbed with indescribable emotion, part sad, part happy, part… humbled. "All is forgiven Feuilly and I really do hope we can be friends." He still looked uncomfortable, so Aimee drew upon some information that Courfeyrac had given her. "I hear you are the go to person where Poland is concerned. I was reading some very interesting things on it in a book of Enjolras' the other day."

His face lit up in a smile and soon they were sat at a separate table, Feuilly swinging between passionate and angry, waving his hands around to demonstrate his point.

"Enough on Poland already, Feuilly." groaned Bahorel, throwing a cork at the animated man. "Let Aimee play something for us." He was wearing a waistcoat so brightly coloured that Courfeyrac claimed it was giving him a headache.

"I don't know…" Aimee felt nervous. The night before she hadn't been aware that people were listening, and anyway, who knew if tonight she would be able to play the piano. She hadn't known before last night.

"No harm in trying." Bahorel shrugged, and Courfeyrac and Jehan both gave her pleading looks. Unable to resist the pleading puppy eyes, she caved in.

"Arggh! Fine, but don't blame me if I don't know how to play, or Enjolras tells me stop because it's annoying him." She waved a finger in their faces before sitting down at the instrument with bad grace.

She stared blankly at the keys for a moment, no notes coming to mind. Gradually, they filtered into her consciousness and she began to play tentatively, then more confidently as she remembered the tune.

_A gentle voice giving instructions, elegant fingers playing the notes in demonstration, that high clear voice singing the words…_

Almost unbidden, the words to the song began to tumble out of her mouth, starting at little more than a whisper but soon growing louder as she lost herself in the music. "_They say there's a place where dreams have all gone. They never said where, but I think I know. It is miles through the night, just over the dawn on the road that will take me home. _

Behind her, all the occupants of the room, not just the Amis, sat in spellbound silence.

"_I know in my bones I've been here before. The ground feels the same though the land has been torn. I've a long way to go. The stars tell me so. __On this road that will take me home." _

Her voice, that was soft and rich, rose as she sang the chorus._ "Love waits for me 'round the bend. Leads me endlessly on. Surely sorrows will find their end and all of our troubles will be gone. And I'll know what I've lost and all that I've won when the road finally takes me home."_

Enjolras gave up any pretence of work when Aimee sang the second verse. As much as he was drawn into her voice, he couldn't help finding a revolutionary meaning to the lyrics of the song. The first verse, talking about a place where dreams have gone, and it being miles through the night like the night of injustice that lay over France, heading towards the dawn, the dawn of revolution. He lost his line of thought as he watched the way she played and sang, every fibre of her being engaged in the music, her heart and soul being laid out bare in the notes and the words. He was mesmerised. He could think of no other word for it.

"_And when I pass by don't lead me astray. Don't try to stop me. Don't stand in my way. I'm bound for the hills where cool waters flow on this road that will take me home. Love waits for me 'round the bend. Leads me endlessly on. Surely sorrows will find their end and all of our troubles will be gone. And we'll know what we've lost and all that we've won when the road finally takes me home. I'm going home. I'm going home. I'm going home."_

She lingered over the last words of the song then turned nervously to face the room. She was slightly surprised to see far more people there than when she had started. It was Jehan who started the applause, his eyes filled with genuine tears. Soon the room was on its feet. Some of the men even tossed coins in her direction.

"I think we've found an important asset to the cause," murmured Combeferre from his place beside Enjolras.

Enjolras nodded in silent agreement, not seeing his right hand man's knowing smile. If his friends could show this amount of passion over a song, maybe there was hope for the cause yet.

**A/N So I hope you guys are enjoying this so far. I'm not too sure as I'm not getting that many reviews (**_**hint hint!**_**). **

**I'm going to try and put some more songs into this fiction as music is going to be a large part of both Aimee's past and future and also, it is a really lovely way to show the emotions that the characters are feelings but would find hard to verbalise. If anyone has any suggestions for songs I'm open to them! **

**Not sure when the next chapter will be. A mixture of an insane amount of work for college and the fact that my Muse has taken a short holiday could make writing the next few chapters a little difficult.**

**I will try though. Promise!**


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: Me not Victor Hugo**

**A/N Okay, just want to put up a brief warning here, this chapter is pretty dark in places, and could possibly be a trigger for cutting. **

**I think this fiction has been a bit too cosy and fluffy so I want to try and get my head around Aimee's emotions. She has no memory of who she is or where she comes from, she should be terrified and emotionally vulnerable. I hope I do this justice.**

**Chapter Eleven**

A slight layer of snow dusted the streets of Paris the week before Christmas and in the back room of the Musain, the little group of friends sat drinking mulled wine and socializing.

"'Tis the season to be _Jolllly,_ falalala la la la la." Courfeyrac warbled, slinging his arm around the medical student's shoulders with a brightness in his eyes not related to his mischievous personality and more to the alcohol he had been downing at a steady rate.

"Weve me awone Gourfeyruc. And stob singing." Joly groaned, sniffing miserably. True to form, he had caught a cold as soon as the first snow appeared.

"What's wrong with my singing? I thought I hit that last note rather well, thank you very much."

Bahorel muttered something about Courfeyrac hitting notes only dogs could here, much to the amusement of the other occupants of the room who had a hearty laugh at Courfeyrac's expense.

Being Courfeyrac, he took it in good humour. "You're not going to see me for two weeks; I may as well annoy you as much as I can now!"

"Why, where are you going?" Aimee had only been half listening to the antics of her friends, her attention being taken up by her book.

To be honest, most of the Amis were a little worried about her. Her eyes were shadowed from lack of sleep and held a haunted look that even Jehan's cheerfulness and Courfeyrac's teasing could not dispel completely. She was preoccupied and nervous, jumping at sounds and flinching away from unexpected embraces. Everyone knew that her nightmares were a nightly occurrence if the matching dark circles under Enjolras' eyes were anything to go by.

Both Combeferre and Joly had tried to talk to her, they had even taken her to see Dr Dupont again, but she remained silent, shaking her head at their questions and becoming upset if they pushed her. They had even suggested a sleeping draught but the results had been so traumatic for her that they hadn't tried it again. So, they did the only thing they could and were her friends, hugging her if she would let them and trying to cheer her up.

Sighing dramatically Courfeyrac collapsed into the chair next to her. "I'm having to make the annual allowance earning trip home for the holiday season. I don't see them any other time of the year, and as my father is paying my university fees and partially funding my…other interests," he eyed up the new waitress as he spoke, "it really is only fair that I have some form of interaction with them in the year."

"I always wondered how you always have money when you don't seem to work." She muttered.

"It's not my fault I haven't got a job. My temperament and law clerking just weren't compatible. Besides, I know for a fact that 'Ferre, Joly, Bossuet, Jehan and Bahorel are going home for the exact same reason!"

The aforementioned Amis grimaced in acknowledgement.

"Isn't that a little…I don't know… against what you guys stand for?" Aimee's question earned her some questioning looks. "Wanting to help the poor, living on the political edge, but all the while living off money that your parents are giving you instead of working?"

"We try to give as much away as we can." Comberferre sat down with them to share the conversation. "But we do need something to live on. As for the money not being earned by us… most of us are at university studying to become people who can make the world better. Change in the world can be brought about by the education of people, so if we can become people who can educate, help, or defend others, where the funding for our studies and lives comes from could be seen as a necessary evil."

"But change through education can be a slow process. A noble process, but slow none the less." Enjolras spoke from his normal place in the corner, taking the conversation on a different route. "Sometimes a brief time of violence accomplishes more than many years of peaceful change."

Comberferre frowned. "Violence is not always the answer, and" he held up a hand to stop the argument his friend was already forming, "it is not that I refuse _hand-to-hand combat with an obstacle or to attack it by main force and explosively_, but I believe that the human race should be brought into accord with its destiny gradually."

Aimee had watched the exchange with interest not quite sure what they were arguing over. Now would be a good time to mention that although Courfeyrac had told her about the political leanings of the group, he hadn't mentioned that they also would turn to violence if need be to achieve their goal.

"We made more of an impression in '32 when we were on the brink of revolution than we have in all the years before or since." There was a hint of anger in Enjolras' tone that she didn't understand.

"What do you mean 'revolution'?" Her book was forgotten and a hint of worry gnawed at her gut. "I thought you just talked, discussed ideas of how the country could change, made a nuisance of yourselves through letters, and…." She trailed off.

"We are willing to use violence if that is what it takes to change this country for the better, and are willing to die if necessary for the cause." Enjolras' voice held a flare of passion and he glared around the room, unwillingly noting how some of his friends looked unsure.

The tension in the room following Enjolras' blunt statement was palpable. As ever, it was Courfeyrac who brought it upon himself to steer the conversation into safer territory.

"So, what are the rest of you doing over the holidays? Marius? Eponine?"

Eponine shrugged. "I've got a friend from the dress shop I work at who wants to go to the theatre. I'll probably go with her."

"I've agreed to an invitation from my grandfather." Marius said softly. His face was a strange mixture of emotions that nobody could quite fathom.

"I'm glad your relation with your grandfather is getting better, Marius." Marius smiled at Combeferre words and said, "It's not much, and it will probably end in either angry words or blood, but it's a start. He may not agree with me, and may have done some unforgivable things, but he did raise me. I can at least be thankful for that."

"Here, here." Courfeyrac rejoiced. "Grantaire?"

He shrugged. "My sister said she wouldn't mind seeing me and baiting her husband is not a bad way to pass the festive season."

"Bahorel?"

The fighter's smile was feral. "Let's just say I've got female company."

When the wolf whistles died down Courfeyrac asked, "Feuilly? What about you?"

Feuilly gave a shy smile, so unlike his normal self, and look at the floor as he spoke. "I've been invited home for Christmas by the girl I am courting and… maybe if it goes well… I might ask her father… for her hand." His ears tinged a delicate pink as the room descended into appreciative hollers and cat calls.

"The first of the Amis to move on in life." Courfeyrac patted Feuilly, who was protesting that he hadn't even asked yet, on the shoulder. "I always thought 'Ferre would marry first if I'm honest. Hey Joly, when are you going to pop the question to 'Chetta?"

Everyone started yelling and shouting and arguing good naturedly, nobody noticing Enjolras' expression, a strangely vulnerable one of something close to despair. He didn't know how he felt about not being asked about his plans. Not that he had any, he never had any, but it was nice to be asked. As the rest of the group was preoccupied with teasing Feuilly mercilessly, he was the only one to see Aimee sway dangerously as she stood, all of the colour gone from her face.

She walked over to his table in the corner. "I think I want to go home… back to the apartment I mean." She reached for her coat and scarf and he did the same.

"We may as well say goodbye now." Jehan said, over hearing their intentions and coming over to give her a hug. "We're all leaving tonight or early tomorrow."

Aimee clung to him, surprising him slightly. She did the same for all the boys, even Joly, despite his protestations that he was infectious and that she would catch something off him.

That then led to the question of why he was going home in such a state, which led to Bossuet reassuring him that he wasn't going to infect his family with any lethal diseases.

She led the way out of the room, her face still too pale and her eyes clouded. Courfeyrac caught Enjolras' gaze, his face concerned.

The blond shrugged. Aimee's emotions and moods were all over the place at the moment, and until she was ready to ask for their help, there was nothing he could do.

* * *

With a strangled sob of despair Aimee jerked into wakefulness, tears flowing freely down her cheeks, her mind full of the images of her latest nightmare. What made this one so distressing to her was that it wasn't her confusing and dark memories that were haunting her.

Instead it was visions of what could happen. Smoke and blood, screams of the Amis, screams of her friends echoing through empty streets, no one coming to help them as they died for a cause they alone believed in, empty chairs at empty tables, the rooms of the Musain ringing with their voices, voices that would sing no more.

She trembled, panic washing over her. The Amis were her life, her anchor points, her world. Nearly everything she knew of this world was from them; she was alive because of them. Without them, she was nothing, she was lost.

She was a ghost. A ghost with no past and, without them, no future.

She wished she could go back to before the nightmares started, when she was only focused on healing her body and getting to know the group of crazy, loyal, and lovable boys, because that's all they were essentially, boys. Not a one of them was over thirty; many of them were only twenty-four or twenty-five.

What would happen if they did feel that they needed to fight? Felt that they had to go up against the might of the French National Guard?

She wished this wasn't real, that they hadn't told her the full extent of their beliefs. She wished they were here, all of them, even Grantaire. At least his drunkenness and crude comments were a certainty. But they weren't here, they were gone for two weeks, they had left her.

Except Enjolras.

She scrambled out of bed, desperate to reassure herself that she wasn't alone, that she still had a human anchor, even if that anchor didn't seem very fond of her. She had to reassure herself that _she_ was real, that she wasn't a ghost.

A ghost with no past and no future.

Although it was dark outside, Aimee guessed it was close to dawn. She shivered in the cold of the apartment and carefully pushed open Enjolras' door, searching for his sleeping form in the dim light thrown by the candle she carried.

He wasn't there.

She felt like the floor had fallen out from beneath her.

He was gone; she was alone, floating free without an anchor. She stumbled into the room, her legs giving out as she fell to the floor. Every scrap of certainty that she managed to hold onto up until that moment disappeared.

Maybe she _was_ a ghost. She had no memories, no past, no future. She felt nothing. Ghosts didn't feel anything did they?

A thought sprung into her confused and panic filled mind. Ghosts didn't bleed, ghosts didn't feel pain. She spotted Enjolras razor sitting by his wash basin, the candlelight glinting off the bright metal. If she bled, she was real.

The razor was in her hand, hovering over her skin. Shakily, she brought the metal into contact with her skin, savouring the cold before pressing down gently on the pad of her right thumb. A red bead swelled from the cut, growing before running down to her hand. She was real. Just to be sure, she pressed harder, a gasp of pain escaping her lips.

She must be real, she bled, and she felt pain. But she was still alone. She moved the next finger, searching for the pain that stopped her from remembering that.

"Aimee!"

A familiar voice jolted through her thoughts. A figure came into her vision and warm hands carefully eased the razor from her hand. She looked up from the blood, no longer needing it to prove she was alive. Enjolras' eyes were filled with panic and confusion.

"You didn't leave me." She whispered, gasping as the pain from her hands hit her. "I thought I was alone."

His hand reached out and cupped her cheek, the most intimate gesture he had ever shared with her. "I would never leave you." His eyes met hers. "You will never be alone, not while I'm here. Understand?"

She nodded, a wave of exhaustion washing over her. He must have noticed because, to her surprise, he picked her up and carried her through to the kitchen where the stove was throwing out a little heat.

He set her down on the sofa which he had pulled closer to the warmth, and began to rummage around for the medical supplies that Joly insisted all of his friends kept at their homes. His head was in a whirl. Why had she done that, why had she hurt herself? He knew a little of self-harm and the phycology behind it, he had seen the scars on Grantaire's arms, the worry in Combeferre's face when the drunk got too maudlin. But why Aimee, why did she think they had left her? He glanced briefly back at her. The bleeding seemed to be slowing. He sighed. There was no Combeferre or Joly to ask for help, no Jehan and Courfeyrac to cheer her up.

Armed with a bottle of medical alcohol, that had somehow escaped Grantaire on his last visit, and a handful of bandages, he sat beside her and began attending to her bleeding hand.

Aimee gasped a little as the alcohol stung her cuts and he glanced at her apologetically. She gave a ghost of a smile as if to say it was okay. Pain was good, pain meant she was real, meant that he was real.

She must have said something of that effect out loud because he frowned the frown she was coming to know so well and that he wore far too often. She studied the little lines and kinks that formed in-between his eyebrows and the way his nostrils flared slightly. He looked handsome, but it was a harsh handsome as opposed to the stunning beauty of that time in the café after his speech.

It wasn't until he tied off the bandage that he called her out on her statement.

"I don't understand why you did this, Aimee. I was right here, in the kitchen, working. I'm real, we're all real. I don't understand." There is note of uncertainty and confusion in his voice that takes them both by surprise.

Now that the panic was gone and Enjolras was there and everything was all alright again, Aimee felt as if a floodgate had opened. She hadn't talked to anyone about anything she'd been experiencing, and suddenly she just wanted to let it all out. But she can't look him in the face, with those all seeing blue eyes boring into her soul, those angelic features contorting in exasperation, so she turns slightly and rests her head against his shoulder.

He tenses slightly, uncomfortable with the intimate contact, but after a moment he relaxes and she begins, her voice faltering occasionally.

"At first, it was so overwhelming. I woke up in a strange place, surrounded by strange people, with no idea who I was. You can't even begin to understand how… terrifying that is. And, it was alright for a while, I was getting better and was getting to know this strange little family I had found myself in. Then, I began to remember things, snippets, like when you know something and it's on the tip of your tongue and then it floats away again. I would get bits and pieces, some good, some bad."

She paused, trying to find the right words. "The night I sang that song, it was like a door in my mind opened when before I had only been looking through the keyhole. Only, it wasn't a nice room. That first nightmare… I was so scared." She whispered the last part, as if ashamed. "These horrible things, screams, blood…somebody that I know being hurt, horribly hurt, and I couldn't do anything."

She remembers the words whispered in her ear by the ice cold voice and shudders. "Courf and Jehan helped me that day; they distracted me from it and made me safe for a while. But now…as soon as I close my eyes, they're there."

"People I don't know, terrible things happening, and after a while I began to wonder what parts of the nightmares were real and what parts weren't. It was so… disorientating and so unnerving, not being able to trust your own mind, your own memories, but I thought that everything would be alright because I had all of you. And then everyone was talking of leaving, of going home to their families or spending time with someone, and then Feuilly saying he wants to get married and Courf saying about people moving on…" Her voice broke and she registers that his arm is wrapped gently around her shoulders. When it was placed there she wasn't sure

"… and I panicked because what if everyone does move on, but without me? I tried to tell myself that I was being silly, that the Amis would never leave me alone as long as they had breath in their bodies, Jehan said that to me once, and then you started talking about revolution and dying for the cause and I felt like I'd been hit with a sledgehammer because I realised you could die, all of you. Where would I be then?"

"I'd be alone with no idea of who I was, without a friend in the world, and honestly, I don't think I could live without all of you. I wanted to see everyone, to reassure myself, but they're all gone. So I wanted to see you, to prove that I wasn't alone and…and you weren't there." A sob forces its way out of her throat and she feels Enjolras pull her closer, his hand carefully stroking her hair, a comfort that she didn't expect him to bestow. "Everything got tangled up in my head to the point that I wasn't sure if I was real or not and… I don't know, I felt like I had to prove to myself that I was real, that I wasn't a ghost, and that I wasn't alone…" She finishes in a whisper, utterly exhausted by the events of the night and finally managing to verbalise her inner turmoil.

The fire is warm and so is Enjolras, whose arm is a comforting weight around her. She's now nearly laid with her head on his leg and she distantly remembers that Enjolras doesn't do physical contact, like ever, and that this should be really awkward, but it isn't for some reason. She feels safe, like she does when Courfeyrac hugs her or Bahorel walk the streets with her or Combeferre helps her with her self-schooling, but this feels _so much better_, so she succumbs to the gentle touch of Enjolras' hand upon her hair and falls asleep.

For the first time in a long time, she doesn't have a nightmare.

**A/N Phew! That was… intense. I hope I got all of her emotions out well and that you guys enjoyed this. Tell you what, why don't you leave me a review and tell me. ;)**

**Until next time mon amis!**


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer: Me + Les Miserables = no money for me because I don't own it. **

**A/N Okay, I know some of this chapter is a repeat of the last chapter, but I realized I made a bit of a mess of the POVs in the last chapter, and I really wanted to do the whole incident from Enjolras' POV and slip in some of his thoughts and angst.**

**Just want to give a massive shout out to my mum for helping me with this story. My Saturdays are spent racing around the countryside on our horses while I bounce ideas and character development off of her. She really is the best and I couldn't have done this without her.**

**Also, it could be suggested that you listen to the song 'Suddenly' from Les Mis for a good part of this chapter. It fits really well!**

**Again, WARNING FOR CUTTING, but it's not as severe as the last chapter. **

**Chapter Twelve**

Enjolras sat in silence, his brow creased in thought and not a small amount of worry. He felt as if his friends, the group that they had been, the aspirations they reached for, were all slipping out of his grasp. He pushed his shirt sleeves to his elbows, and rested his head in his hands. He had seen their faces in the café; he had seen the uncertainty, the hint of reluctance, the doubt. Were they all becoming more like Grantaire as time went by, becoming less certain of the mark they could make, of the things they could do? _Did they doubt him?_

He had been wondering this for quite some time actually, and it worried him. Every day he felt as if he was losing another little piece of something he could not name, but felt the disappearance of it acutely. His own doubts and fears began to assault then, the dark and quiet of the apartment a breeding ground for his uncertainty.

_You know that the plans in '32 were flawed; you know how it would have ended. All of you would have been dead, and their blood would have been on your hands, or on your soul as you would have died as well_

'_**But plans can be changed, modified so the same mistakes cannot be made again!'**_

_Yes, but people can also change, belief can change, modified so the same mistakes cannot be made again_

_**They wish to change the world, they wish to help people!**_

_Ah, but they have also had a taste of life, had two extra years of living, two extra years to study, to expand their minds. Can you blame them for wanting to put all of that hard work into living a purposeful life…?_

_**They are willing to fight! They always have!**_

_...wanting to marry, have a family, live in their own bubble and shut themselves off from the idea of violence?_

Enjolras stood abruptly, shutting of conversation with his subconscious. He could not falter now. If he did, he had a feeling the group would collapse like a house of cards. He paced around the room for a moment, lost in thought, when he suddenly heard a noise coming from the direction of his room. It sounded suspiciously like a gasp of pain. He rounded the corner and saw a light coming from his room. He frowned. That wasn't right. The only person in the apartment apart from him was…

"Aimee!" His mouth apparently worked faster than his brain, because he was still processing the horrific scene before him. Aimee was slumped in the middle of his floor, her face white and tear stained, her eyes not quite focused. In one of her hands was what looked like his cut throat razor, while the other… He drew in his breath sharply and quickly moved to kneel before her. Her other hands was running with blood and her night dress was dotted with it. He gently eased the razor from her limp grasp.

She looked up from where she had been staring at the damage she had inflicted upon herself. "You didn't leave me." She whispered, gasping as the pain from her hands hit her. "I thought I was alone."

Confusion was the first thing he felt. Why on earth had she thought he had left her? The second emotion was relatively unknown to him. Tenderness.

His hand reached out and cupped her cheek, the most intimate gesture he had ever shared with her. "I would never leave you." His eyes met hers, steady blue to frightened green. "You will never be alone, not while I'm here. Understand?" He was surprised at his own words, and even more surprised that he meant every one.

She nodded, looking exhausted from the events of the night. Without a second thought he picked her up and carried her through to the kitchen where the stove was throwing out a little heat.

Setting her down on the sofa which he had pulled closer to the stove for the warmth, he began to rummage around for the medical supplies that Joly insisted all of his friends kept at their homes. His head was in a whirl. Why had she done that, why had she hurt herself? He knew a little of self-harm and the phycology behind it, he had seen the scars on Grantaire's arms, the worry in Combeferre's face when the drunk got too maudlin. But why Aimee, why did she think they had left her? He glanced briefly back at her. The bleeding seemed to be slowing. He sighed. There was no Combeferre or Joly to ask for help, no Jehan and Courfeyrac to cheer her up.

Armed with a bottle of medical alcohol, that had somehow escaped Grantaire on his last visit, and a handful of bandages, he sat beside her and began attending to her bleeding hand.

She gasped a little as the alcohol stung her cuts and he glanced at her apologetically. She gave a ghost of a smile as if to say it was okay then whispered something about pain being good, pain meant she was real, meant that he was real.

He frowned, confused at her choice of words, but it wasn't until he tied off the bandage that he called her out on her statement.

"I don't understand why you did this, Aimee. I was right here, in the kitchen, working. I'm real, we're all real. I don't understand." His voice holds a note of uncertainty and desperation, which takes him by surprise.

Several emotions flitted across her face, fear, sadness, relief, and strangely shame. After some sort of inner battle, she turns from facing him and settles her head carefully against his shoulder.

Enjolras felt himself tense for a moment, slightly uncomfortable with her nearness. He very quickly relaxed when he realized how comfortable, and comforting, this position was.

As Aimee poured out her heart to him, her explanations and admissions of her fears finished the job she had started the moment he had looked into those captivating green eyes. The cracked marble shield shattered. He felt her tears soak through his shirt and he shifted so that his arm could rest around her shoulders. How had she carried this alone for so long? Why hadn't she told one of the Amis, Courfeyrac or Jehan? Why was she telling him?

He looks down at her, her face nearly buried in his side, her voice soft and shaky. He runs his hand over her hair in a gesture he has seen other people do thousands of times, but had never done himself. Her hair is soft and dark beneath his fingers and he can just feel the shorter strands from when it was cut back in October.

"Everything got tangled up in my head to the point that I wasn't sure if I was real or not and… I don't know, I felt like I had to prove to myself that I was real, that I wasn't a ghost, and that I wasn't alone…"

The vulnerability in her words creates a surge of protectiveness towards the damaged but brave girl in his arms. The gentle rhythm of her breathing indicates that she has fallen asleep, probably sleeping the best she has in weeks.

Enjolras knew he should probably move and let her sleep alone on the sofa so as to minimize her discomfort when she wakes up to find herself essentially in his lap, but he can't find it in him to disturb her.

Silence once again reigns in the apartment, but this time, Enjolras wasn't worried about his demons. He was drinking in every detail of the sleeping girl in his arms. The high arch of her cheekbones, the way her eyelashes fluttered slightly as she slept, the gentle curve of her mouth.

_Is this what love feels like?_

The thought brought him up short. Was this love? Did her love Aimee? He felt protective, yes. He found her to be witty, amusing, clever, sensitive, passionate, beautiful…

Maybe love was too certain a word for it, but he felt something was different. Something suddenly had begun.

* * *

Enjolras' eyes crept open as the smell of coffee assaulted his senses and he felt a smile make its way onto his face. The smile, however, rapidly turned into a grimace as he realized that he had fallen asleep with his head laid sideways on the back of the sofa, and his neck is now punishing him for it.

Massaging his neck with one hand, he glanced up to see Aimee stood nervously in front of him. She had dressed and brushed her hair, but had only loosely pinned it back so that it tumbled down her back. His eyes instantly went to the bandages on her hand and all of the events of the night before, including his foray into his personal feelings, came back in a rush.

"Good morning."

She hands him a warm mug. "Good morning."

He took a sip and cannot repress a sigh of contentment. Perfect coffee as always. "You really didn't have to make this you know, especially with you hand." He nods towards the bandages.

To his surprise, she flushes slightly, the colour staining her neck and cheekbones. She looked pretty even when she blushed. He mentally slapped himself for this thought. He really had to get a hold of himself.

"I'm sorry, about last night. I hate inconveniencing you and…"

He cut her off. "There is absolutely no need to apologize." He cleared his throat awkwardly. "In fact, I should probably be the one apologizing. Instead of realizing how upset and unhappy you were, I expected other people to notice and deal with it. It was insensitive of me, and I'm sorry, I should have taken better care of you."

Aimee opened her mouth to protest, but then shut it and grinned. "Knowing us, we'll spend half the day apologizing to each other."

He laughed, knowing that it was partly true and also just happy to have the Aimee he knew and lov…knew back. Just stick to knew.

An easy silence fell over them and Aimee carried her drink over to the window. She twitched aside the curtain and uttered one word. "Oh."

"Is that a good 'oh' a bad 'oh' or a something in the middle 'oh'?" Enjolras asked, twisting around to look at her.

"Depends how much you like snow."

He joins her by the window and looks outside. Or, at least, as far outside as he can see as the air is thick with a blizzard of snowflakes.

"Good thing I stocked up on food." Aimee uttered from next to him. "On the downside, we are going to be stuck in each other's company for at least a few days until this eases up."

"Do you consider that a bad thing?" He felt a little hurt by her apparent reluctance to spend time with him, but was mostly curious.

She stared at him levelly over the rim of her coffee mug. "You haven't exactly been the most open and friendly type in my company before now."

He felt slightly ashamed, as he knew it was true. "I intend to rectify that." He put down his mug and scrabbled about in a chest for a moment, coming out with a polished wooden case. "I'm going to teach you how to play chess."

She drained her mug. "I already know how, my Papa taught me…" The levity of her words hit her and she froze mid-step.

Enjolras was by her side in a moment. "It's okay." Without stopping to think, he pulled her against his chest and held her tightly until she stopped trembling.

He released her reluctantly, but catches her eye. "Baby steps, one thing at a time." She smiled back at him, and he found that he liked whatever this new version of their relationship was. "Still want that game?"

* * *

"Checkmate." Aimee knew she sounded smug, but she really didn't care. The look of stunned bewilderment on Enjolras' face was too good not to exploit.

"How did you do that?"

"I have absolutely no idea." She grinned. "But…checkmate!"

He scowled. "You must have cheated."

"I never took you for a sore loser, Enjolras." His scowl deepened and he huffily started reading a book. They had been playing all afternoon, and Aimee had beaten him a surprising number of times. This in its self was impressive as Enjolras was a fairly proficient chess player.

Aimee curled herself up in her chair and looked thoughtfully into the fire. "You know…it really is slightly ridiculous me calling you by your last name."

He glanced up at her quizzically, and her fingers itched to push back the few stray blond curls that fell over his forehead.

"I share an apartment with you, I know all of your friends, I've fallen asleep in your arms," her voice and head dropped a little on the last one, so she missed the slight blush that graced Enjolras' features, "and I still call you by your full last name."

"And I'm comfortable with it staying that way, for now." He turned back to his book, obviously expecting her to drop the issue.

Aimee however, had other ideas. She had been cooped up inside all day, had had far too much coffee, and was still feeling cocky from her last win. So she began to throw out name suggestions, much to Enjolras' annoyance.

"How about 'Jolras?"

"No."

"Maybe 'Ras?"

"No."

"Enjy?"

He glared at her, but inside he was actually enjoying the banter. "Don't even think about it."

She was silent for a minute and he thought the conversation over. No such luck.

"Apol…"

"For goodness sake! I have a first name, a perfectly decent first name! Use it!"

His outburst was met with silence, and he wondered for a moment if she had taken his outburst at face value. He was just about to apologize when she spoke.

"Julien?"

He loved the sound of her voice saying his name. "Yes, Aimee?"

"Best of fifteen?"

He smiled and turned to face the chess board. "I seem to remember I'm winning…"

Her only reply was to scoff and began to set up her peices.

**A/N Awwww! I loved writing some fluffy interaction between these two. Their relationship is going to move on a bit now, but it's not going to be a smooth ride. Where would be the fun in that? Hopefully, lots of surprises in the next chapter, when I get around to writing it. **

**Review and make me happy! **


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer: I am not Victor Hugo. Duh.**

**A/N Okay, massive apologies to all of my lovely readers. I am sorry this has taken so long, but I hit a metaphorical creative brick wall and I also had the realization that if I didn't sit down and do some work, I was not going to be able to finish my last two assignments for the college year. Shout out to my mum who read through the dialogue with me and helped me make it AWESOME!**

**In answer to the Guest who asked about Marius and Eponine shipping, I'm afraid not. All will hopefully be explained in the next chapter.**

**So, anyway, it's here, hope you enjoy it and feel free to yell at me at the end when you find out some of my devious ideas. *scurries off to build a barricade to hide behind***

**Chapter Thirteen**

The snow that had started as a picturesque dusting soon turned to a full on blizzard, resulting in many people being snowed in, Enjolras and Aimee included. Margo and the other tenants of the house were away over the holidays visiting family and so escaped the incarceration. The food that was in Margo's apartment came in useful though, and Enjolras was glad that his land lady had insisted on keeping a supply of dry and ready cut logs in the basement of the house.

As the days passed, the tentative bond between the two of them grew stronger and surer. It became a common occurrence for the two of them to curl up on the sofa in the evenings and talk by the light of the glowing embers of the fire. They each found that they enjoyed the company of the other and marble façade that Enjolras normally wore crumbled into none existence. They learnt to read the each other's moods and found the things that made them laugh together. Neither could remember a happier time; Enjolras because of his cold and strict upbringing and Aimee because of her lack of memory.

It was this ability to read into his moods that alerted Aimee to the fact that as New Year approached and the snow melted away, something began to bother Enjolras. He became more reserved; spending hours brooding over his books and his face settling back into that all too familiar frown. Any attempts that she made to draw him out of himself were met with cool words and a guarded expression. The marble was reforming and Aimee didn't like it at all.

She pondered as to why this was as she sat curled up in front of the fire on New Year's Eve, a book untouched in her lap. Enjolras sat on the other side of the room, his shoulders hunched as if the weight of the world was upon them. She enjoyed his company, enjoyed how she could converse with him on practically any subject and how he would either know something about it, or know a book or person who would. She enjoyed the way he treated her as an equal, encouraging her to counter his arguments and to speak from her heart. She enjoyed making him laugh, loved the sound of his laugh, loved the cheeky half smirk that appeared when they bantered, the way his blue eyes sparkled….

Wait. She blinked. When had 'enjoyed' turned to 'loved'? _Focus, Aimee, focus. You're trying to figure out what is wrong with Julien. _She sat in the silence, the sounds of revelry floating up from the street below. She stretched languidly, noticing how Enjolras turned his head slightly as he sensed her movement. Laughter rang out down below them and Aimee had a flash of inspiration.

"We need to get out of this apartment." She made her tone matter of fact, hoping he wouldn't, for once, argue with her.

"Why?"

She pulled a face. "Because we have been in here for days, and it is New Year's Eve, in Paris, and everyone else is having a party out there."

His answer was as brisk and emotionless as his pen that scratched across the page. "I have no desire to go out into the cold to most likely only get robbed. I have much to prepare for when the Amis return and I would like to continue in peace."

She had had enough of his distance and withdrawal. She did not have the energy to ease out what his problem was, when it was obvious that all he needed was some time off. "For once, Julien, please stop working! Stop fretting and worrying and working yourself to an early grave! The world will not end because you took the evening off to have some fun celebrating the end of the old year and the beginning of the new!"

"Celebrate the ending of the year!" His voice was thunderous and she involuntarily took a step back. "Tell me why I should celebrate another year wasted, another year of inaction, another year of _nothing_?! Why I should celebrate my own weaknesses as a leader, why I should celebrate the ineffectiveness of my words and actions? Why I should celebrate the lives I could not save, why I should celebrate the fact that my friends no longer care for the cause, why I should celebrate the fact that I am _useless _as a leader, good for nothing but pretty words and ill thought through plans of attack that would have killed every one of us…" he trailed off, his breathing ragged from the emotion as he realized what he had just admitted. He collapsed into his desk chair and rested his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands. "I would have killed them all because I was so blinded by my own foolish ambitions of being some sort of _hero_!" He spat the final word as if were tainted.

Aimee was silent, shocked by his outburst, but also feeling for the young man in front of her. Sitting before her, he had never looked so young, so vulnerable. He had been carrying these insecurities and worries around on his own all this time…

"You saved my life." She spoke softly as she took a hesitant step towards him. "That must count for something."

Not receiving an answer, she walked closer. "You are not a bad leader, Julien, truly. The Amis believe in you, believe in the cause; I can see it in their faces every time you speak." She crouched down in front of him, amazed at how their roles had reversed in just a few days.

He moved his hands just enough to see her face. His normally vibrant eyes were despondent, an emotion that Aimee never wanted to see there again. It just looked wrong. "What good are words? I have been preaching my ideals to the people of Paris for nearly six years now, but have achieved practically nothing; a handful of small riots and protests that didn't even make the papers. The closest we came to really starting anything was in '32 and we all would have ended up dead. I was, I _am _their leader, and I should have planned better. Now, I should be doing more, reminding our group what we stand for, who we are, and all I can manage to do is have a mild break down. I ask you, what kind of a leader does that make me?"

She reached out and pulled his hands away from his face. "A human one, Julien, for at the end of the day you are nothing but a man. As far as I can see, you have become very adept at putting up your marble front, but only because you worry that if everyone saw the real you, the version of you that I have seen over the past few days, that they wouldn't believe in you as a leader." From the look on his face, Aimee knew she had somehow managed to put into words everything he had been bottling up and refusing to recognize. "They would still believe in you, possibly believe in you even more, if they saw you were human like the rest of them. You are a good leader, and an even better friend. Shall I tell you why? Because you _realized _that the plans in '32 were flawed and acted accordingly. The plans were never used, Julien, they never went wrong, and everyone is still alive because you acted as a leader should. You took the whole situation into consideration, put aside your own desires, and ensured the safety of your friends. In that action, you were not only the revolutionary leader, but also the man who cared deeply for his friends. What could be more inspirational than that?"

His next words were whispered and made her want to cry. "I lose a bit more of them every day. Every day their fervour dulls just a little more. Every day they concentrate just a little bit less. And now, Feuilly is getting married, we're all nearing the end of university and everyone is looking forward to their own future. What if they don't care anymore? What if it ends up just being me, spouting radical political nonsense that no one wishes to hear?"

"You cannot blame them for wanting to live, Julien. We all want to live, to look to the future. But you will never walk this path alone, I promise you that. It would take death to force the Amis to leave you. Myself included." The last part was said somewhat shyly and he looked at her curiously.

"You saved my life, twice." Both of their thoughts jumped back to that terrible night, to the gleam of crimson on steel. "I would do anything for you." She flashed him a smile and sprung to her feet. "You cannot, however, change the state of society tonight; no matter how hard you work. So, come on, let's go out into the streets and celebrate the resilience of the human spirit. I know Patria can be a harsh mistress, but she has her moments of gaiety too." Seeing that he was still hesitating, she added gently. "You have to live, Enjolras, or you will forget what it is you're fighting for, what we're all fighting for."

That seemed to sway him, as he rose and began to gather the necessary items of clothing for them both. "Thank you." He said quietly; the sincerity in his voice obvious.

She took the offered scarf, coat and gloves and asked the question that that been nipping at the back of her mind during their conversation. "Why did you never say anything to 'Ferre or Courf or tell them how you were feeling? They're your best friends."

"As you just said, I have become so good at not showing my emotions, that I didn't really know where to start. That, and I was worried that if I said anything they would lose faith in my ability." He smiled slightly. "As you also said. How is it that, in such a short time, you know me better than I know myself?"

Aimee paused, genuinely pondering the question. How was it that she could see through the marble to the man beneath? Why was she able to read him so easily? "I don't know." She said honestly. "Maybe it's because I haven't known you very long." Seeing his sceptical look she elaborated. "Because I don't know you as the 'leader' or the 'student', I don't have any expectations of how you should act. I just know you as 'Enjolras'. Does that make _any_ sense at all?"

He laughed and her heart leaped as his playful smirk reappeared. "Not in the slightest! Now," he gallantly offered her his arm. "Shall we go?"

* * *

The city was alive as a cacophony of noise and colour. Street parties seemed to radiate out from every corner and people were singing and laughing everywhere.

Initially, Aimee had felt utterly overwhelmed by the sheer number of the people and the volume, she had after all spent over a week indoors, but with the comforting bulk and warmth of Enjolras pressed against her arm, she soon relaxed and began to genuinely enjoy herself. There were some moments that were awkward, like when a very drunken young man refused to take no for an answer when he asked Aimee to dance with him. This resulted in Enjolras partially losing his temper and a broken nose for the luckless lad, but that was about it.

Despite Aimee pleading and cajoling, Enjolras refused to dance at all, but made up for it by buying them both a cup of mulled wine. He also bought them each a hot crepe, which they both instantly gave away to some of the numerous gamin children weaving through the crowd.

"It's nearly midnight." He glanced down at her and she was pleased to see his eyes were bright with enjoyment, the dark doubts of earlier for now held at bay by the bright lights and joyful atmosphere. "I hear there's going to be fireworks."

He took her arm and guided her gently through the mass of people. She noticed how he very thoughtfully kept her close in the thickest parts of the crowd and constantly kept checking to see if she was alright. He only came to a stop as the people around them started the count down from sixty, hundreds of voices chanting together.

"_Forty, thirty-nine, thirty-eight, thirty-seven…"_

"My first new year!" Aimee had to almost shout for him to hear her. "A new beginning!"

"_Twenty-nine, twenty-eight, twenty-seven…"_

She stood on tip toe to be closer to his ear, not noticing the involuntary shiver that ran through him at her closeness. "My resolution is two-fold. One, discover more about my past and my old family."

His face changed as he registered her words, wondering why she had chosen this particular moment to bring up the subject of her leaving the group. Leaving him.

"_Fifteen, fourteen, thirteen, twelve…"_

"Second, to build myself a future with my new family."

"_Ten, nine, eight, seven…"_

Maybe it was the wine from earlier, but Aimee was feeling delightedly light headed. The crowd kept them crushed together and as she looked up, she saw something is Enjolras' eyes that she had never seen before. They were so close she could feel the heat of his body through the layers he wore. Did she just imagine it or did his eyes just flicker down to her lips? His head moved closer to hers and her hands tightened on his shoulders.

"_Three, two, one… HAPPY NEW YEAR!"_

Fireworks exploded above them, drawing both of their gazes upwards. When they looked back down, the moment had passed, and Aimee felt a strange pang of disappointment. She dropped back onto her flat feet and looked around as the crowd began to break up.

Suddenly, a familiar figure caught her attention. She would recognize that cap anywhere.

"Feuilly!" Enjolras quickly stepped away as he followed her gaze and saw their friend staggering down the side of the street. He was very obviously drunk and Aimee had a sinking feeling in her stomach.

When he caught sight of them he tried to change direction and get away, but his inebriation got the better of him and he fell against a wall. Aimee hurried over to him and gave him a quick once over. He didn't look too bad, but something wasn't right.

"Feuilly, why are you in Paris? I thought you were away at your beau's home…" she trailed off as he gave a harsh bark of laughter.

"Turns out Annette had forgotten to mention my '_financial situation'_ to her father. When I asked his permission for her hand, he _bloody patted me on the shoulder_ and said that if I was earning a few more thousand francs a year it would be a done deal." his tone was bitter and slurred from the alcohol in which he had tried to drown his pain. His shoulders slumped and he all but collapsed to the floor. "I loved her, Aimee, I really did." To Enjolras' horror, his friend began to cry, his shoulders shaking at the force of his sobs. "I still do!"

Aimee sat down beside him, ignoring the dirty snow that soaked her skirts, and pulled him into a fierce embrace. Her gaze met Enjolras' and suddenly the New Year didn't seem so happy any more.

**A/N Yeah, so… Don't hurt me too much. Please? **

**I don't know how people celebrated New Year in 1835 and I'm sorry if I've missed out some French traditions, I was having too much fun writing an almost kiss! ;) **

**Tell me what you think, I'm super proud of the conversation between the two of them and really enjoyed getting into Enjolras' head. Tell me what you think, it is very much appreciated. **


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer: Can't be bothered with witty disclaimers any more. Not Victor Hugo.**

**A/N Huge grovelling apologies for the wait. I had a MASSIVE college assignment to finish that could make or break my first year grades so I had to really focus on that. On the plus side, I've now got two weeks off! Yay!**

**Okay, going to stop rambling now. Thanks to everyone who has reviewed, especially World About to Dawn and Sarahbob, your reviews always make me smile! Sorry for Feuilly by the way. Hope this chapter will make up for it.**

**Let the story continue…**

**Chapter Fourteen**

The sounds of revelry filtered up from the street as the majority of people continued with the party. After Feuilly's breakdown in the street, all three of them had returned to Enjolras' apartment; all desire to celebrate disappearing. Much to Enjolras' relief, their friend had stopped crying and had simply stumbled limply between them as they walked back through the snow that had been churned to a dirty slush.

They had placed Feuilly in Enjolras' bed and he had fallen asleep instantly; a mixture of exhaustion and alcohol taking their toll. What surprised Aimee most was that Enjolras hardly uttered two words for the rest of that evening, choosing instead to stretch out on the sofa and feign sleep. She knew him well enough to know when he wanted to be left alone, and so she had bid him a quiet goodnight and gone to get ready for bed.

She had attempted to sleep, but that night sleep eluded her completely, the few times she dozed off she would jerk awake with whispered words and screams echoing through her head. Instead she lay awake, staring into the dark. The evening kept playing on a continuous loop in her head, from Enjolras' despair to the moment just before the fireworks. If she focused hard enough she could still feel the warmth of his body, still see the intensity and slight nervousness in his eyes as he had leaned closer…

Unhappy with the direction her thoughts were taking, Aimee jumped out of bed. Pulling on a set of her woollen stockings, she wrapped herself in an old, brown, woollen jacket that she had borrowed from Enjolras and never given back. Opening her door silently, she padded through to the living room.

The sight that met her did little to stop her decidedly romantic turn of thought. The light from the glowing fire fell softly across Enjolras' features, giving him a noble air whilst at the same time reminding her that he was once somebody's child.

The sound of violent retching drew her out of her wonderings and she hurried to Enjolras' room, glad that Enjolras had had the forethought to place a bucket by the bed. Apparently, numerous counts of looking after a drunken Grantaire had taught him a thing or two about the after effects of wine.

She gently smoothed Feuilly's hair away from his damp forehead and was a little surprised when he flinched away at her touch.

"M'sorry." He muttered, seemingly unable to meet her eyes.

"You've nothing to apologize for." She soothed, handing him a glass of water, another of Enjolras' ideas.

"I just feel so… angry and helpless and useless all at the same time." His grey eyes met hers, filled with unspoken anguish. "I'd almost forgotten what it was like to be treated as a guttersnipe, as a… a nothing, as a _miserable_… and to then be reminded of it at such a time and in such a manner…" His shoulders sank and he seemed to deflate. "She didn't do anything." His voice was a low whisper and the hurt in it pulled at Aimee's heart. "She didn't say anything, not even as I walked out of the house, she just stood there. She hadn't mentioned my financial situation to her family before, as if she was ashamed of me, of who I am…"

"Never apologize for being yourself, you hear me Alexandre Feuilly!" Realizing she had shouted, and not wanting to wake Enjolras, Aimee lowered her voice. "If that girl was ashamed of you and was unable to see past the narrow-mindedness of society, then she didn't deserve you!"

"It doesn't stop it hurting, though." His bitter words finished the conversation and she simply had to content herself with giving him a hug and leaving him in peace.

She was going to return to her room, but as she passed the still slumbering Enjolras, she suddenly felt reluctant. Never before had she been able to see him asleep. The few times that they had dozed off on the sofa, she was the first to fall asleep and the last to awaken. Being as quiet as possible, and feeling a little self-conscious, Aimee settled herself in the chair across from him, allowing herself for the first time to really _look _at him.

A high forehead, creased slightly from constant thought, heavy eyebrows above deeply set eyes that when open were capable of a multitude of emotions within moments, a straight well-proportioned nose that was often crinkled in irritation or determination, well defined cheekbones and a strong, clean cut jawline, soft pink lips, the lower one slightly thicker than the upper, that were capable of forming words of fire and brimstone or words of teasing banter.

_What it would be like to kiss him?_

The thought snapped Aimee out of her reverie and she felt herself flush in embarrassment even though she was alone. Jumping to her feet, she scurried back to her room and forced herself to try and sleep. It didn't work.

Line break

The snow melted, all traces of the street parties were cleared away and life returned to its familiar trudging pace. It was several more days until the rest of the Amis were scheduled to return to Paris and to say that, for Aimee, those days felt like torture, would be an understatement. She missed her friends, missed their company, their voices, their laughter, their light. It didn't help that Enjolras had once again buried himself in his work, spending all of his time crafting the speech he would give to all of the Amis at the next meeting. He was desperate to get it right, trying to find the words to reignite their passion. He read every draft to her, wanting her input, but rarely seeming to actually listen.

"You're over thinking it, Julien." She had been sat on the sofa, watching him as he paced in front of her, his curls in an even more tangled state of disarray than normal. "Just tell them about how you're feeling, the same way you told me."

"Would you suggest it with or without the pathetic crying?" He had snapped sarcastically at her, proceeding to lock himself in his room for the rest of the day.

Several drafts and a few uncomfortable silences later, the day of the meeting had arrived.

The two of them arrived half an hour early, as was Enjolras' custom, discovering that Grantaire was already there at his normal corner table, still half sober. Aimee actually quite liked Grantaire when he wasn't completely drunk, finding that his drunken cynicism hid a sharp mind and a limitless knowledge of art, the Classics and Greek mythology.

"How was your Christmas?" she asked brightly, sitting down next to him as she removed her scarf and pulled off her gloves.

He grunted and did a hand gesture that seemed to indicate it had not been a particularly joyful experience, then paused when he saw her hand. "What did you do?" His voice was laced with suspicion and his eyes were suddenly studying her far too intently.

Aimee flushed as she glanced down at the still healing cuts that criss crossed her fingers and palm. She had grown so used to only being around Enjolras that she hadn't considered that the Amis would notice and ask questions.

"Just an accident." She mumbled, knowing that he wouldn't believe her. She glanced up at him, pleading with her eyes for him not to draw attention to it with the others. The look of understanding in his eyes surprised her and he raised his bottle in a silent salute of acceptance.

Just then the door crashed inwards and a familiar figure strutted in. "The fun has arrived!"

"Jerome!" Aimee launched herself at her best friend. He swept her up in a fierce embrace and swung her around in dizzying circles, their laughter mingling together. Courfeyrac put her down and she stooped to pick up his hat that had been knocked off in the scuffle, neither of them seeing the glare that Enjolras threw Courfeyrac, his blue eyes sparking. The only one to notice was Grantaire, who simply chuckled and took another drink.

"You seem much happier." Courfeyrac commented, pleased to see some light back in her eyes and a glow to her cheeks. His quick eyes spotted the cuts almost immediately. "What happened?" he asked, concern in his voice as he studied her hand.

She snatched it away quicker than was necessary and forced a smile. "I smashed a glass while I was washing up, there was blood everywhere." She winced, hoping her voice sounded more convincing to him than it did to her. Courfeyrac didn't get a chance to question her as Combeferre butted in. "Did you get all the glass out?" He had come in just in time to hear her story and now gripped her wrist gently to examine the cuts.

"Julien, um, Enjolras helped me." She said weakly. Combeferre gave her one of his looks, a long and steady look that seemed to see straight to her soul.

"Hm." He said, not sounding convinced as he dropped her hand and gave her another piecing look. "I'll just go and talk to Enjolras for a minute, you know, so we can catch up."

As he walked away, Aimee saw Courfeyrac looking at her suspiciously. "What?"

"End of the meeting, you, me, serious talking, understand?" his mouth quirked. "I want to know what you and _Julien _have been up to."

Aimee glared at him, but suddenly noticed that he was accompanied by far more bags than he had gone away with. "How many gifts did you get? There had better be something for me in there!" she joked, but noted the odd look that flew across his face.

"I'll tell you about it later," he muttered, as Bahoral appeared beside them to give Aimee a bear hug.

The rest of the Amis arrived in quick succession after that. Well, all bar one.

"Where is Marius?" Aimee couldn't help but pick up on the nervous undertone in Enjolras' voice, though it was well masked by irritation. "He did get the right date for meeting, didn't he?"

The room turned as one as the door swung open, most expecting to see Marius. However, it was Eponine that stood there, and most surprisingly she was alone. When asked where Marius was she simply shrugged, only Aimee noticing how her face lost colour and her eyes clouded. She placed herself in her normal corner and refused eye contact with the rest of the room.

"How was your time with the marble man then? Did you speak about anything other than politics and revolution?"

Aimee was cuddled up against Courfeyrac's shoulder, but moved away and frowned disapprovingly at his question. "I don't like it when you call him that, and I don't think he likes it much either. He's not a statue, or a god, he's just as human as the rest of us."

Courfeyrac's eyebrows rose at her defence of their leader, before a slight realization dawned in them. Aimee flushed and looked away as he smiled mischievously, then settled herself back into her original position. She knew exactly what he was thinking, and he was wrong. She was _not _falling for Enjolras.

Line break

Enjolras noticed Aimee looking at him oddly from her place next to Courfeyrac and wondered what the exchange between the two of them had been about.

"Julien?" Combeferre questioned from next to him. His friend seemed to have disappeared inside his head for a moment.

Enjolras snapped his head round so fast he almost got whiplash. "Yes?"

"I said, are you ready to start? A lot of us want to get home before it goes dark and some of us still have all our bags with us."

Enjolras felt himself sag a little inside. Suddenly the speech that he had worked so hard to complete, seemed pointless; the words dry and hollow. Did they even care anymore? Of course, he didn't say any of this out loud; instead he just swallowed thickly and nodded once before clambering up onto the table.

Every eye in the room was instantly on him and he took a deep breath. "My friends, my brothers…"

"My fellow Romans," Grantaire muttered from the corner, causing most of the room to snigger.

Enjolras felt himself falter, something he had never allowed Grantaire's comments to do to him before. He glared in the drunkard's direction then looked around the room to ensure he had everyone's full attention. Just as he was about to start again, his eyes met Aimee's and his thoughts flew back to the night he had bared his soul to her. The occupants of the room glanced at each other in confusion as he stood on the table, seemingly turned to marble statue they so often liked him to.

The noble fire in his eyes, that so often accompanied his rallying speeches, suddenly seemed to falter and fade to be replaced by a softer, warmer glow. He stepped down off the table, his mind, for the first time in week, totally clear. "Why are we here?" he addressed the room as a whole, reading their confused expressions, picking out Aimee's pleased smile from among them.

No one answered him, not even Combeferre, who looked as bewildered at the sudden change in their leader as everyone else. He repeated the question as he began to move around the room, moving among them instead of standing above them. "Why are we here?"

Courfeyrac was the first to venture a response. "Are we referring to physically, metaphorically, theologically…?"

"Why are we the _Les Amis de l'ABC_? Why do we meet?" He stood at the front of the room again. "What are we bothering for? Why don't we all just go home, climb into bed, and forget?"

"Aren't we here to create a better future for France?" Combeferre had finally spoken.

Enjolras whirled on his friend. "Why do you speak that as a question? Are you uncertain?"

"No!" Combeferre denied hotly. "We meet as a group to try to secure a better future for France. There. Is that more positive for you? What has gotten into you, Enjolras?"

For a moment he froze, the uncertainty and the worry rising up again as if to engulf him. If he told them, would they ridicule him? Have him removed as leader? His eyes met Aimee's again, and he drew from the confidence shining in those green depths.

"I feel as if I am losing you all." His voice was low, barely above a whisper, but the shocked expressions of his friends indicated that they had heard. "We plan, yes, but what else have we done? What actual action have we taken? I blame myself as your leader," He raised a hand to their protests, secretly reassured that they believed in him that much. "No, it is true." He took a breath, preparing to share his deepest insecurity, his greatest fear. "We got so _close _to action in '32, so close, but I am thankful every day that we did not go through with our plans. They were ill-conceived, faulty and would most likely have resulted in our deaths. After that, I…I was afraid." There, he had admitted it. It was out. There was silence, each in the room holding their breath, mesmerized by this stranger walking amongst them.

"It was only as I looked back that I realized how easily we would have been over run, how you all would have died for a dream that I had planted in your minds. As time passed I felt as if we began to drift apart, in our cause at least. We are still friends, but is that all we are; friends of each other and no longer the friends of the people?" He let his gaze roam around the room, meeting the eyes of each person there. "It would be so easy for us to forget about our dream, you know. Many of us are almost ready to leave university, get jobs, and start families. Which is why I ask, why are we here? What is it in each of you that drove you to here? Why are you willing to risk your future, your _life, _for a better future for France?"

There was silence in the room after his final question, and Enjolras worried that he had misjudged the situation, had handled it all wrong, and he waited for the angry words to start, the accusations, the feelings of betrayal for thinking so little of them.

It was Jehan who spoke first, gentle, thoughtful Jehan, with his strange dress sense and his confounded ferret. "I am here because I hate sadness." He spoke quietly, staring into his glass. "I hate the despair and grief I see on the faces of people every day who have done nothing to deserve it." He raised his eyes to his friends. "But I am not only driven by sadness, oh no, I am driven forwards by the faces of those gamin children I see every day, who, despite their circumstances, still find joy in the slightest of things, that even when they are hungry they still find time to laugh and play. I fight because I am both inspired and humbled by the resilience of the human spirit." He looked Enjolras straight in the eye, "I think I had forgotten that somewhere. I thank you, Enjolras, for reminding me of that, and I will follow you wherever you lead us, to hell and back again if needs be."

Enjolras inclined his head in thanks, suddenly unable to speak as he felt tears prick the back of his eyes.

Courfeyrac rose next, surveying the room. "I am here because I believe that everyone deserve a chance to live, to thrive. I feel such a burning anger whenever I observe the way that rich bourgeois treat the people of the street, brushing off even the most desperate as if they don't even exist. How they walk past a woman holding a child, both of them starving, and not raise a finger to help. I know there will always be cruelty and I know that human society is in and of itself flawed, but I am here because I must try and make some kind of difference, some sort of sense of the world."

Combeferre's eyes never left Enjolras' face as he spoke. "I have found that illness brings us all to the same level. A wound is still a wound whether it is sustained by a beggar or by the king himself, we all bleed. I want to heal this country the same way I wish to heal my patients and I want a society where all are treated equally, where all can find comfort from pain and distress. As Jehan said, I think I had forgotten my reasons for being here, lost in the struggle of every day and I am sorry that you feel we have been drifting away from you; away from cause." He smiled slightly. "We do not think any less of you for telling us this, my friend; in fact, I think I respect you more, if that is even possible."

"I come here because I here I feel safe." Eponine's quiet but steady voice surprised everyone. "I used to think that you were all foolish, school boy dreamers, and, to a certain extent, I still think that." She raised her eyes from where they had rested on the table top. "But if there is even a chance that you can change something, I want to be a part of it. So many people, like me, have to work themselves bloody to try and clamber out of the gutter only to have society push them back again. I want to be a part of a world where there is equality, where there is help for the people who actually _try _to better themselves." Her voice fell. "I want to be a part of a world where love is not stipulated by class, or fortune, but is simply love."

"I second that." Feuilly stood up. "I agree with every word each of you has said. But I am also here because of my friends, because of you. Without all of you I am nothing, a nobody, an unsuitable match for the woman I love." At these words his voice faltered. "With you…I am simply me. But thanks to all of you, it is the best of me."

"I fight for those who cannot fight for themselves." Bahoral spoke up. "I've never liked bullies and the upper classes are little more than that, cowardly bullies." He grinned. "It's also kind of fun."

Joly rolled his eyes at the comment. "I only wish to help, to heal, to make someone's life a little better. Healing the whole country? Is not the whole country simply a collection of many lives, all waiting to be healed?"

Bossuet thumped his best friend on the shoulder. "I may not have much luck, with anything, but there are many less fortunate than I. I may not have much money, but at least I have some. My clothes may be ragged, but at least I have clothes. There is always someone further down the ladder from you; what is wrong with pulling them up next to you?"

"I'm here for the booze." Grantaire offered from the corner, earning himself a glare from everyone. "Well, and the company, and, okay, maybe for the revolutionary nonsense you lot come out with." He took a long drink. "But mostly the booze…"

With Grantaire's words, a heavy silence fell over the room which no one seemed no know how to break. Instinctively, all eyes turned to Enjolras but he too seemed a little lost on this new journey of honesty.

Unsteadily, Amiee rose to her feet, but forced herself to meet each pair of eyes resting upon her. "I'm here because I have nowhere else to go. You are my home, my family, my life. I don't know where your plans will take us, I only know that I will be thankful every day for the rest of my life that it was you who found me." Involuntarily her eyes searched for Enjolras'. As their eyes met, a small smile lifted the corner of his mouth.

Bahoral lurched to his feet, his glass held aloft. "Well… tonight has been interesting. So, here's to life, love, and changing the world. _Vive la Revolution_! _Vive la France!_"

They all rose to their feet to join him, their voices ringing with a harmony that had been absent for too long.

**A/N That was really tense! Hope the wait was worth it. Ah, I can finally sleep now, the voices in my head have quietened down. Please review! **


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer: Can't be bothered. Not him.**

**A/N Oh, the joys of college holidays. So much time to write! This is sort of a filler chapter that sets up some future plot points. And there is a massive twist at the end, so enjoy! R and R and thanks to all you wonderful people who have followed and favourited!**

**Oh, just wanted to plug a story here, not one of my own, but The World About to Dawn's Enjolras/OC fiction, Behind the Red Flag. It's brilliant and definitely deserves more coverage than its getting!**

**Chapter Fifteen**

After the waves of deep, heartfelt emotion had finished flowing from each of the group of friends, the evening descended into much more light-hearted matters, and, for once, Enjolras didn't mind in the slightest. He sat at his usual table, a rarely seen smile gracing his features, secure in the knowledge that, despite their love of horseplay, wine, and bad puns, his friends believed in him and therefore synonymously believed in the cause. His gaze fell on Courfeyrac and Aimee and once again he felt the stirrings of a strange emotion, the same emotion he had felt when Aimee had greeted the dandy so enthusiastically. As Courfeyrac tugged playfully on a strand of Aimee's hair, Enjolras felt the emotion flare deep in his gut, wishing it was him that was making her smile like that.

"Jealousy does not suit your complexion, my friend." Combeferre's tone was wry and a small smirk pulled at his usually gentle features as he seated himself beside the speechless and somewhat flustered blond.

"I am not jealous!" he eventually sputtered out, a far cry from his usual eloquence. "Why on earth would I be jealous?"

"Mmhm." Combeferre hummed, raising an eyebrow sceptically before abruptly changing the subject. "Those cuts on her hand look pretty bad. What happened?"

Enjolras paused, uncertain with how to answer. He hated lying to any of his friends, Combeferre especially, but he was quite sure that Aimee would not want the details of her… episode… to be public knowledge throughout the group. "She – er, she fell – and landed on some glass." He glanced guiltily away from Combeferre's searching eyes, just in time to see Courfeyrac pull a laughing Aimee away from the group and into a shadowed back corner. _What are they doing? _He thought to himself, his mind jumping to far too many conclusions. He was just about to storm over to the corner and find out for himself when Combeferre spoke, his words causing Enjolras to freeze.

"Well, that's odd, because Aimee said she got them after she broke a glass while doing the washing up."

Enjolras turned to his closest friend with a sigh. When he met Combeferre's eyes, he instantly felt guilty for causing the mixture of confusion and hurt showing there clearly. "We both lied." He admitted heavily. "It wasn't a glass, it was… it was a razor. My razor to be exact."

Combeferre's eyebrows knit together in confusion. "What was she doing with your razor?"

"She had some kind of… breakdown the night everyone left for the holidays. She had somehow convinced herself that we had all left her, were never coming back, and that she was alone." His expression darkened as he remembered how utterly broken she had looked sat on the floor of his room. "I don't actually know how aware she was, almost like she was still half asleep and stuck in whatever nightmare she had been having, but awake."

"Sounds somewhat like she was having a mini panic attack while also sleepwalking." Combeferre threw a glance over to the corner that Aimee and Courfeyrac where still ensconced in, obviously deep in discussion about something as their foreheads were nearly touching. "It was probably due to the physical injury she sustained to her head or possibly there is a deeper, hidden emotional trauma which no of us completely understands."

"She went to my room, desperate for any kind of human contact, and completely panicked when I wasn't there. I was in the kitchen, studying." He explained for Combeferre's benefit. "She cut herself with my razor, all over her hand." He frowned at the dark memory. "Afterwards she was muttering something about 'proving she was real' and that 'ghosts didn't bleed'." He shook his head before admitting, "I have never been so terrified in my life as when I realized that she could have bled herself to death less than ten paces behind me and I would never have known." He shuddered at the thought.

"So it only happened the once?"

Enjolras nodded. "She seemed much better afterwards, but that was probably because I didn't dare let her out of my sight."

"Yes, you do seem rather taken with her." Combeferre's eyes danced with laughter behind his spectacles as he watched his friend turn an unflattering shade of red.

"She is a friend, a very good friend. To us _all_." He stressed the '_all'_. "I just happened to be the one who was there." He decided to refrain from mentioning about the hours of teasing banter they had shared, the viciously competitive games of chess, and heartfelt confessions on both their parts.

Combeferre simply tilted his chair back onto two legs Bahorel style and took a drink from the bottle he was holding. "Mmhm."

* * *

Aimee grinned good-naturedly as Courfeyrac played with a strand of her hair. She allowed herself to tune out of the conversation slightly; the boys were all making witty puns that she couldn't even begin to understand. She glanced across at Enjolras who seemed to be talking to Combeferre about something. She was trying to read into Enjolras abashed expression paired with Combeferre's teasing one, but turned away as she felt a tap on her shoulder.

"Can I talk to you for a moment?" Courfeyrac murmured quietly, his voice unheard by any of the others thanks to Joly's nearly hysterical ramblings about the splinter in his palm that he was _certain _was going septic.

Aimee laughed and nodded, following him to one of the quieter, albeit less well lit, corners of the room. After they had sat down, Courfeyrac rubbed his hand across the back of his neck, a sure sign that he was uncomfortable about something. This concerned Aimee somewhat as her best friend was rarely short of words and to see him so downhearted was worrying to say the least.

"How was your family?" she asked, trying to dispel his melancholy mood. No doubt he would launch into an amusing anecdote to make her laugh and he would forget to ask her about her hand and her relationship with Enjolras.

"Let's just say I had better work out my differences with law clerking as my allowance is, well, significantly less than it was." He sighed. "Significantly less meaning nothing."

Aimee leaned in close enough for their foreheads to touch, trying to convey her sympathy through that simple gesture. "What happened?"

"I refused to marry some girl who my parents had chosen for me and got into the worst argument of my life with my father over my political beliefs." He grinned, but it didn't quite make it to his eyes. "Maybe I should have taken you with me; I could have passed you of as my fiancé."

She punched him lightly on the shoulder. "I'm quite glad I didn't go with you actually, I was an emotional mess." She admitted. "And before you start, yes, staying with Enjolras actually did help a lot."

"Are you going to tell me what _actually _happened over the holidays?"

"Don't change the subject; I'm not the one who just got their allowance cut off." She kissed his forehead. "You give so much kindness and care to people, Jerome. It's about time you took a little of it back."

He smoothed the pad of his thumb across her cheekbone with a sigh and a glimmer of a smile. "Let's just enjoy tonight, shall we? I have plenty of time to talk and worry it over some other day."

They sat in easy silence for a minute until his next question which made Aimee choke on a mouthful of wine. "So when did you become attracted to Enjolras?"

When she had finally managed to get her breathing back under control, her response was much like Enjolras' had been when faced with the same topic. "Don't be ridiculous!"

"Denial!" he replied in a sing-song voice, his face split into a huge grin.

She glared at him.

"Oh, someone's been taking lessons from Enjolras, or is it _Julien _now." He teased mercilessly, all while wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

At that comment, Aimee felt herself go the colour of Enjolras' favourite red waistcoat. She thumped her friend on the arm, stood, and flounced over to the table that Combeferre and Enjolras were currently occupying, stoically ignoring his raucous laughter. As she sat down, she noticed that the medical student threw her another of his piercing looks, this one tempered with pity. That could only mean one thing. "You told him!" she hissed, rounding on Enjolras, keeping her voice low so as not to attract attention.

"I thought he should know!" he hissed back. "And what if it happens again, hm? Shouldn't he have some kind of information about it?"

She fell silent at that and looked down to where her hands were tangled in her lap, unconsciously tracing the healing cuts, completely missing the apologetic and protective look Enjolras gave her.

Combeferre cleared his throat awkwardly as the silence became heavy. "So, how was your holiday season?"

Aimee brightened a little and flashed Enjolras a dangerous smirk. "We got snowed in and I soundly beat Julien at chess."

"It was twice!" he snipped back, not appreciating the questioning look that Combeferre gave him when Aimee used his first name.

"Yes, two championships. Anyway, I managed to drag Enjolras out on New Year's Eve for a bit of fun." She flushed invisibly as she remembered their rather…intimate…moment.

"Make any resolutions? The only one I made was to appreciate my friends more and I think after tonight that shouldn't be too hard." Combeferre gazed fondly over at the bickering group of young men who were now playing cards and gave a small smile as Jehan offered to share his cards with Eponine, who had come to join them, Ophelia as normal hung around his neck.

Aimee visibly straightened as she remembered what she had resolved to try to do. "I want to try to find out of bit about my past." She admitted. "Maybe…try and make some sense of my dreams, which are now a lot less frequent by the way." She gave a helpless gesture. "I just have no idea where to start."

"Library." Courfeyrac said confidently, dropping into the chair beside her. "They keep copies of every newspaper from every day as research material. As your memories are quite…violent," he treaded carefully as he saw her flinch, "it is likely that it was reported upon in a newspaper. It's worth a shot." He shrugged. "I can take you next week if you like."

Aimee gladly took him up on his offer and the talk at the table had just turned once again to more general matters when the door swung open and Marius entered the room. He looked different somehow and Aimee frowned slightly as she studied the young man, trying to discern what the difference was.

He stood tall and straight instead of slightly hunched as he usually was and a slight smile hovered over his lips. His face held a dreamy, preoccupied look and he looked the happiest Aimee had ever seen him.

"The visit with his grandfather must have gone well." She muttered to Courfeyrac who nodded in agreement.

"Marius, you're late." Enjolras' tone was as icy as the wind outside and Aimee involuntarily cringed in sympathy for the lecture Marius was about to get. Surprisingly there was none and Enjolras simply ignored the younger man, choosing instead to return to talking with Combeferre.

"What's wrong today?" Aimee heard Joly ask and, accompanied by Courfeyrac, she made her way over to their table to hear the conversation better.

"You look as if you've seen a ghost." Courfeyrac commented, pulling up a chair for his ex-roommate.

"Some wine and say what's going on!" Grantaire offered, handing the chilled young man a full glass.

"A ghost you say, a ghost maybe. For so long she has been a ghost to me, one minute here and then she would be gone." Marius mused cryptically, and Aimee noticed how Eponine seemed to turn in on herself as if unable to listen to the conversation but also unwilling to leave.

"I am agog! I am aghast!" Grantaire bellowed to the room. "Is Marius in love again? At last? I haven't heard you 'ooh' and 'ahhh' over anyone that mystery girl of yours back in 32'. Have you finally found a replacement?"

"I'm getting a really bad sense of deja vu." Courfeyrac muttered from next to her.

Marius laughed, a happy gleam in his eye. "Not replaced, no. I've found her again." He beamed at them all, completely missing the agonized look on Eponine's face. "I've found Cosette!"

**A/N Do you like the twist? Hate it? *hides from Marius/Eponine shippers* I'll explain in the next chapter (hopefully) or if not, at least in the near future. I'm hoping to start ramping up the suspense and romantic tension now, heading as we do towards the barricades. Yes! There are going to be barricades!**

**Until next time mon amis!**

**Libz x**


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N I am a despicable human being, I know. I haven't updated for ever! I am ashamed, truly. This unplanned hiatus is mostly due to a lot of college work, and then my Muse for this story took a nap, and a severe attack of the plot bunnies which resulted in several hilarious fictions that I wrote with my sister. Check them out if you dare! *hint hint***

**Just want to say a MASSIVE thank you to ****Paytonrhyan ****for her lovely and inspiring review. It helped to kick me out of the rut I'd been stuck in and helped to boost my confidence that people are actually enjoying this story.**

**Anyhow, buckle up people, from here on we're in for a bumpy ride!**

**Disclaimer: Not Victor Hugo and Enjolras likes red. (Yeah, I know, who would have guessed?)**

**Chapter Sixteen**

Enjolras scowled fiercely at the sheet of paper in front of him, the crossed out words and rewritten sentences mocking him. Giving up, he crumpled the page in his hand and threw it to join several others on the floor. Pulling a fresh sheet to the clear space in the centre of the desk, he started afresh, the furrow in his brow easing as the words flowed eagerly across the page. It felt as if the waning passion he had been feeling for the past several months had come back in a tidal wave of zeal. Petitions, letters, pamphlets, speeches, they all surged out of him.

He paused in his task of writing a letter to the leader of another political group similar to the Amis, and reread what he had written. After a moment, he threw down his pen with a growl of frustration, followed by another grunt as the ink splashed up, staining his jacket.

"Julien?" Aimee's voice filtered through from her room, growing louder as she came closer. "Do you need anything at the market? Courfeyrac is taking me to the library, but I can go shopping as well if you like?"

She was now stood at the door of his room, a small frown marking her face as she saw the ink stain. "That will be difficult to get out." She caught sight of the discarded drafts and her face softened. "Writer's block?"

"Not exactly." He leaned back in his chair and massaged his aching temples. "I know what I'm trying to say. I just can't seem to find the correct way to word it. It comes across as either too militant or too pacifistic; I either sound power crazed or unsure of myself."

She took in his rumpled appearance and the frown reappeared. "Did you sleep at all last night?"

He shook his head, words and sentences buzzing around his brain incessantly. Maybe if he moved the second and third paragraphs around and reworked the bridge between them…

He looked up guiltily when he realized Aimee had been speaking to him again.

"I was saying that Courf will take me straight to the café, so I won't see you again until this afternoon." She grinned and gave a little mock salute. "Farewell until then, Fearless Leader!"

He couldn't help but smile back, even though he felt he was not deserving of the title. He heard the door close and the sound of her boots clicking down the stairs, the murmur of voices for a moment, then the sound of the street door opening and closing.

Ignoring the buzz of words in his head for a moment, he stood and stretched, his joints popping from being hunched in the same position for too long. As if of their own accord, his feet led him to the living room window, which afforded a clear view of the street below.

He looked down just in time to see Aimee loop her arm through that of a laughing Courfeyrac. Her face lit up in a smile and the sound of her laughter drifted up to his ears. They matched, both beautiful, both laughing. They looked like the perfect couple. The thought churned his gut as he watched the two of them stroll off down the street, drawing many glances, most envious, and he felt again the strange prickling sensation he had felt a few nights previously.

They had all been at the Musain, celebrating the addition of another rifle to their armoury. Courfeyrac had been the one to smuggle it in, saying he had 'liberated' it from his father's collection. When Combeferre had frowned disapprovingly at the idea that the weapon was stolen, Courfeyrac had defended himself by saying it had been the gun he always used, so was actually his. Aimee had laughed at his antics, before dragging him to his feet to dance, the two of them fitting together perfectly. It had felt it then, a sudden, strong urge to get to his feet, cross the room and cut into the dance, proving to everyone there how much Aimee meant to him.

But of course he hadn't and it was only when he was alone, watching her walk away with another man (Courfeyrac may be his close friend, but he was still a man) that he could objectively study the emotion. It was as the laughing couple turned the corner of the street and disappeared from view that he finally reached a conclusion.

He was jealous.

He groaned deeply, resting his head against the cool glass of the window. He was jealous of the affection Aimee showed Courfeyrac, felt betrayed she had become more reserved around him now that her friend was back. He missed the feeling of contentment he had felt in the weeks they had been alone. For those few blessed days, he had felt the weight of his burden ease somewhat. It did not disappear, that was impossible, the Cause was as much a part of him as his physical limbs were, but he had felt less alone in his responsibility. Now once again he was alone, left with his whispering demons and an unwritten letter that was meant to inspire men enough to give up their lives if the need arose.

He groaned again and thudded his head against the window gently.

"Everything alright, Monsieur?"

He spun quickly to behold the figure of Margo, still dressed in her travelling attire, a concerned look on her face.

He quickly plastered on a smile. "Yes, I'm fine, thank you. How was your family?"

Her smile was bright and genuine. "All are well. The grand children are changing so much, and so quickly!" She paused. "Your holidays went well I assume? Aimee is looking better than before I went away."

Enjolras got the feeling there was more meaning behind those words than was immediately apparent. "Our holidays were boring, but overall satisfactory." He gave another unconvincing smile. "Chess is apparently very good for Aimee's health."

Margo studied his face for a moment as if searching for some other answer. Apparently finding none, she smiled. "I will leave you in peace now. I'm sure you have lots to be doing."

"We took some of the food from your apartment when we got snowed in and the log supply is drastically lower than it was." Realizing he sounded demanding, he quickly added, "I will be happy to replace the food and I can cut the logs later if you would like."

"No need to worry about the food, I met Aimee on the stairs and asked her to pick me some things up at the market. As for the logs, if you wouldn't mind. I'm not as strong as I once was and it won't hurt you to build up your strength. You boys these days, no muscle on you at all, you're all pale and scrawny, you all spend far too long at your books."

The door clicked shut behind her grumbling, and Enjolras couldn't help but smile. He had missed his landlady, he honestly had. He spared one last glance down the now empty street, before returning to his room and his desk with renewed vigour. Now, what if he changed the opening argument slightly…

ACTION SEQUENCE! NO, I LIED. IT'S JUST A LINE BREAK!

The grey building of the library loomed over Aimee as she accompanied Courfeyrac up the wide stone stairs towards the entrance.

As they entered the building and Courfeyrac discovered from the librarian on duty where the copies of newspapers were kept, she took a deep bracing breath. She could be so close to finding out the truth, or at least a part of it.

As if sensing her turmoil of emotions, Courfeyrac gave her hand a reassuring squeeze as they began to peruse the dates of the publications.

"Now," he muttered to himself, taking off his overcoat and jacket and pulling the knot of his cravat looser, "what date are we looking for. We found you on October…15th I believe, so let's start two days before that."

Hauling a great stack of newspapers onto the table, he then gave her a warning look as she reached eagerly for the first one. "You have to be prepared for the fact that we may not find anything. Although you remember the incident, doesn't mean it was a recent memory. It could have happened weeks, months, possibly even years before your attack. It could have happened outside of Paris and you fled here."

It was when Courfeyrac spoke like this that Aimee saw the young lawyer in training and not the flirtatious dandy.

"I know. I've been over it a hundred times in my head, every scenario playing out again and again. I've even been trying to remember the nightmares more." She gave a shudder. "It's not pleasant and it has given me much, but I know it happened in Paris and I know it wasn't long before Enjolras found me."

Courfeyrac picked up the first paper and heaved a sigh. "We'd better get started then."

It was well into the afternoon when they finally found something. Aimee's eyes ached from the dust and the strain of reading the tiny newsprint and a crick was forming in her neck. She turned the page of the paper she was reading, scanning the headlines and text quickly but thoroughly. Lifting her head to stretch her neck, she noticed that Courfeyrac had gone very still. Only his eyes moved, moving rapidly from side to side as he read the text before him.

"Come and look at this." He spoke without raising his eyes. "I think I may have found something."

Aimee stood, her legs inexplicably shaky, and rounded the table to where he sat. Peering over his should, she caught sight of the headline.

_**HAVE YOU SEEN THESE PEOPLE?**_

Beneath were two sketches, one of a man and one of a young woman. She studied the sketch of the woman. Yes, maybe it did look a little like her. She studied the other sketch, willing herself to feel some form of recognition, but there was none. Feeling slightly disappointed, she moved to reading the text.

**Police are searching for these persons in relation to a robbery and possible kidnap. The man, a Monsieur Lyons, and his daughter were found to be missing from their home yesterday when the landlord spotted a broken window and went to investigate. **

The words swam before Aimee's eyes and she felt herself gasp for breath. As if from a far off place she felt Courfeyrac guide her to a chair and speak to her soothingly, but she didn't hear a word.

_Five men, all dressed in black, standing in the doorway of the parlour. The man at the front has a knife at her father's throat and his arm is twisted up behind him. She is told to stand and move to the back of the room and if she makes a sound her father will die. She complies and watches helplessly as the men begin to ransack the room, her only comfort being that her father is shoved towards her and away from the knife. Her back is pressed against the bookshelves, the edges of the shelves digging into her spine painfully and her hands are clasped behind her. Her fingers encounter the cool solidness of the cast iron bookends they had brought from home and she wraps her fingers around it, taking a deep breath as she prepares for what she is about to do. She throws the bookend with all of her might at the nearest man, hoping to catch him in the side of the head, but her aim is off and the bookend crashes through window pane, the sound of shattering glass deafening in the quiet night. The men freeze and duck for cover and she and her father run for the door. Before her hand even touches the handle she is grasped by the throat and slammed forcefully against the wall. The grip on her throat is like iron, cutting off her air supply, and that voice, the voice that has haunted her dreams for weeks now, whispers softly, icily, in her ear. "I like a girl with a bit of fire, it takes longer to break them." A hand runs expertly over her stomach and hip and she lashes out, to no avail. "You can't escape me, not now, not ever. Wherever you go, I will find you…" Her lack of air significant now and her vision blurs before fading into nothing._

The words echoed strangely in her subconscious as Aimee began to become aware of her surroundings once again. Courfeyrac was crouched in front of her, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles on the back her hands. Her breathing slowly calmed from ragged gasps to deep breaths and eventually she calmed completely.

"I think we're on the right track," she said, her voice still shaky. Suddenly the library seemed entirely too small, the bookcases looming above her, the room suffocating. "Can we leave? Now?"

Courfeyrac nodded and quickly replaced his coat and hat before leading her out of the building, leaving a coin for the librarian in apology for the mess they left behind.

HAVE A BREAK. IN FACT, HAVE A LINE BREAK

Once outside, Aimee felt significantly better for drawing in deep lungfuls of the cold air.

"Did you remember anything new?" Courfeyrac asked from beside her, curiosity and concern battling for precedence.

"There was a robbery, I think, at our house," Aimee began, sorting through the landslide of new images she had received. "They told us to stand in the corner and be quiet while they searched through the room, but I threw a book end at one of them in an attempt to distract them. I missed and it went through the window instead, but it still gave Papa and me a chance to get out…" she choked briefly upon saying 'papa' but carried on. "It didn't work. We didn't even get to the door..." Aimee stopped, her hand rising subconsciously to her throat, unable to say the rest, unable to tell Courfeyrac about the hand cutting off her air and whispered, haunting words.

Courfeyrac stopped and, ignoring propriety, gave her a warm hug, both of them ignoring the scandalized looks they received from various passers-by. After a moment Courfeyrac pulled away. "This moment is in dire need of gingerbread." He said decisively. "There is an especially good German vendor who has a stall on the edge of the market." He offered her his arm. "Shall we, Mademoiselle _Lyon_." He grinned at being able to give her a surname at last.

With a wide grin, she took it. "It would be a pleasure, Monsieur de Courfeyrac." She teased, laughing when he scowled at her use of his particle.

"I'm buying you gingerbread and this is how you repay me." He sniffed haughtily and proceeded to ignore her for two and a half minutes

ANOTHER LINE BREAK OR BACKWARDS A KAERB ENIL!

A short omnibus journey later and Aimee was breathing in the delicious scent of German gingerbread. The queue was quite long and she still had some things to pick up for Margo so she tapped Courfeyrac on the shoulder. "I need to buy some replacement food items for Margo. Can you come and find me when you've got the gingerbread?"

Courfeyrac shook his head, stepping out of his place in the line. "I'm not letting you go on your own, not after the upset you've just had. We can get the gingerbread afterwards."

With her arm linked through his, she wove her way through the crowd, glad of the feel of him next to her. Placing the newly bought loaves of bread into her basket, she went to place the change back in her coin purse. As she dropped the coins in, her fingers encountered a strange object that definitely hadn't been there the day before. She frowned, feeling it. It felt like a delicate chain of some kind, like the ones used on jewellery…

Something nagged at her subconscious and she suddenly needed to see what it was. Dragging a confused Courfeyrac with her, she found a quiet corner of the market and set her basket down, her fingers fumbling with the ties on her purse.

"What are you doing, chèri?" Courfeyrac tried to see what she was doing.

The first thing to emerge was a long thin chain made out of silver. She pulled carefully and a small locket appeared, attached to chain. With shaking fingers Aimee brought the locket closer so she could examine it. When she saw the words, she didn't feel surprised, as if she had already known they were there. It wasn't until she read them that she started to cry.

_June, 1831. To mon petite Aimee on your 18__th__ birthday. Never lose who you are for you are beautiful, inside and out. Love Maman and Papa._

She traced the curling script gently. She may have lost who she was, but she was damn well going to get it back.

**A/N Am I forgiven now? **


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N This is probably a bad idea, updating this fast, but the chapter is writtne and Im sure you guys want to get on with it. Thank you to those who reviewed; your kind words and enthusiasm are uplifting. To those of you who have just started following, WELCOME! To those of you have been here from the start, thank you for your loyalty and your kind reviews. Anyway, before this gets too sentimental, on with the story!**

**P.S. To those of you who asked if Courfeyrac is going to fall in love with Aimee, the answer is a definite NO! I know they may seem very much like a couple, but they are platonic soul mates, not romantically interested in each other.**

**Disclaimer: *insert depressing disclaimer here***

**Chapter Seventeen**

"They're late." Combeferre checked his pocket watch for the third time in ten minutes. The Amis were all sat in the back room of the Musain, the only missing members being Courfeyrac and Aimee. Marius was also absent, but everyone had basically given up hope on him.

"I know it's Courf we're talking about here, and if it was just him I wouldn't be worried, but he's with Aimee. What if she's had some sort of flashback again and fainted and Courf doesn't know what to do? What if she's got separated from him and got lost? What if…"

"Ferre, you really need to calm down." Grantaire swung his chair back onto two legs and balanced there expertly. "They will be fine. Courfeyrac probably just got side-tracked; he's rather good at that sometimes."

Enjolras tuned out the conversation and tried to quell his own rising sense of worry. _They probably just lost track of time at the library, that's all. _He focused all of his efforts on the plans and lists laid out before him in a bid to make time pass quickly. The strategy seemed to work as it seemed to be only a few minutes later that the two latecomers crashed through door in Courfeyrac's typically flamboyant style.

Jehan was instantly on his feet, the speed with which he stood nearly dislodging Ophelia from her place on his shoulder. "Aimee! You've been crying, what happened?"

Enjolras' head snapped upwards at those words, and yes, Aimee's eyes were slightly red, a clear indication that she had been crying.

"What happened?" He echoed Jehan's question and sent a suspicious and furious glare in Courfeyrac's direction. "What did you do?"

"Nothing!" he protested, trying to disentangle himself from his coat, eventually doing so with some help from Combeferre. "I think she's a bit overwhelmed, that's all." Seeing the interest in their eyes he grinned mischievously and shook his head. "No, I'm not telling you anything, Aimee can have the honour of doing that and she can do so in her own time." He face sobered and he leaned a little closer. "It was quite distressing for her in some parts, so tread lightly. She was quite shaken up."

Although Enjolras was desperate to ask what she meant, he had to restrain himself as Aimee was headed towards them.

She gave a brilliant smile that was completely at odds with her swollen eyes. "Sorry for keeping you waiting, the walk back took longer than expected."

Combeferre looked at her, concern clearly written on his face. "How are you feeling? Courfeyrac said you were a little shaken up."

Aimee chuckled. "I've just had Joly ask me the same thing, only a little more panicked. I'm fine, honestly; I'll just sit in corner out of the way so you guys can get on." She gave another smile and went to join Eponine at an out of the way table. The two girls were becoming quite good friends.

* * *

For Enjolras the next few hours were a blur. With Aimee in his constant line of sight, he felt himself properly relax and was able focus fully on the task at hand. The letters he had been working on all day were met with positive reviews and Courfeyrac, Bahorel and Feuilly agreed to drop them off the next day.

A date for their first rally of the year was set and Enjolras felt the familiar thrum of excitement at the thought of speaking to a crowd again. He had missed it, only realizing now just how much.

The candles were burning low by the time they reached the last item on the agenda.

"We need new designs for the pamphlets." Enjolras held up some previous examples. "We haven't updated in a while and the design itself quite bland and unappealing."

"Rather like your good self, Apollo!" Grantaire shouted from the corner. "Or should I say your 'god' self?"

Enjolras clenched his jaw in frustration and answered without turning around. "Did your mother never tell you that if you have nothing nice to say, don't say anything at all?"

"Nope." Grantaire replied, popping the 'p'. "She was dead long before I was old enough to say anything." He seemed to register the personal nature of the information he had just given away and blanched slightly. "Ella!" he called to serving girl. "Bring me another!"

Enjolras turned back to the task at hand with a sigh. Despite how much he generally despised the drunkard, he knew that Grantaire had had a tough upbringing filled with hardship and grief.

"What design would you prefer?" Combeferre, as always, was the one to bring everyone back to focus.

Enjolras shrugged. "I'm a wordsmith, not an artist. Would anyone be willing to draw some new designs?"

"You should ask Grantaire." Aimee's voice came from near his ear and he jumped in surprise having not heard her get up. He ignored the shiver that raced down his spine from the touch of her breath of his ear.

"Grantaire?" He gave her a sceptical look. "Are we talking about the same person? Drunk, cynical, incapable of anything apart from trying to replace his blood with alcohol? That Grantaire?"

Aimee's gaze narrowed imperceptibly. "Have you seen some of his drawings? Any of you?" she looked around the assembled group of young men. "He draws all of you, all the time. I caught sight of one by accident and then he showed a whole lot more. They are incredible." She turned back to Enjolras. "If you don't want him to, then I understand, but let it be because you found someone better, not because of your pride and bias."

Enjolras sighed. He would do anything for her just to see those stunning green eyes of hers light up in happiness. "I will consider it." He replied tersely, irritated by how his stomach fluttered when her eyes lit up exactly as he had envisioned them. _Get control of yourself! _He scolded internally.

With this last issue partially resolved, Enjolras allowed the meeting to disperse. Instantly, the noise level rose as wine flowed freely and card games were struck up by several groups. As he and Combeferre finished clearing the last of the maps and papers away into their bags and several folders, Aimee came to join him at the table, followed surprisingly by Eponine. She shyly took a seat next to Combeferre which left Aimee next to Enjolras.

She was playing nervously with something that was hung around her neck as she sat down. "I'm sorry if I was out of line about Grantaire." She blurted out.

Enjolras willed himself to focus on her words and not on the way she was biting her lip. His gaze moved to her eyes, her big green eyes that were looking at him uncertainly. Yes, eyes he could do.

Mistaking his silence as a sign of his anger, Aimee felt a need to apologize again. "I'm really sorry if it seemed like I was undermining you at all. It's just, you had a problem and I knew that Grantaire could help you solve that problem. I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize, you were perfectly right." Enjolras sighed and ran a hand through his curls before continuing. "I know how well Grantaire can draw; I've seen some of his work. Did you know that he graduated from _Ecole des Beaux Arts_ two years ago?"

Aimee shook her head.

"He's very good artistically, I know that. It is the fact that he seems incapable of completing any task that is given to him. I trusted him once with a very important job. He was charged with the task of going to meet with some possible allies at the Barrier du Main; this was back in '32 when we thought we needed all the help we could get. I found him several hours later. He was at the Barrier du Main, yes, but he was playing dominoes and drinking with them instead of trying to recruit them." His gaze flickered briefly to the man in the corner. "I haven't trusted him with a job since."

Aimee was silent, only the sound of Eponine and Combeferre's murmured conversation breaking the silence at the table. At last she spoke. "He almost worships you, you know." Her voice was low so as not to be overheard. "He would die for you in a heartbeat."

Enjolras met her gaze. "I know." He looked back over to Grantaire. "And it scares me."

He was slightly surprised at his admission of fear, but Aimee had already seen him at his worst and most uncertain. He relaxed into the chair. "Courfeyrac said you had big news?"

Aimee's eyes lit up and she pulled on something out of the front of her dress. Enjolras frowned. It was a handsome little silver locket that definitely hadn't been there earlier.

"Courf and I found something, something rather important." She grinned and held up the locket. "And then this found me!"

He was just about to ask her what she meant when the sounds of a scuffle in the corridor outside were heard. The whole room lowered their volume to listen. It sounded as if Madame Hucheloup was having an argument with someone. A sudden scuffle happened directly outside the door before the door flew inwards to reveal two people. One was the landlady of the Musain. The other was a young woman. She had long auburn hair that had fallen out of its style and now hung in strands around her face. Her eyes a dark blue and they were wide and frightened. Her pale skin became tinged with red as she noticed the occupants of the room staring at her oddly.

Aimee glanced quickly at Feuilly and her suspicions were confirmed. He was staring at the girl with a multitude of emotions on his face, the prominent one being heartbreak. Madam Hucheloup was speaking again so Aimee tore her gaze away from the fan maker.

"I'm sorry, Messieurs, but there was nothing I could do! The little harpy was determined she needed to come through, even though I know you don't like people disturbing you." She took a firm grip on the girl's upper arm and tugged sharply. "Come on, now! Back out onto the street with you!"

The girl pulled back with surprising strength and wrenched herself free. "Please, I'm looking for a Monsieur Alexandre Feuilly. He told me he frequents this café…" her voice trailed off as she met Feuilly's eyes.

Feuilly hadn't moved a muscle since the girl had appeared and his face was a frozen stony mask. It didn't take Aimee long to realise who this girl was.

The girl took an uncertain step forwards. "Alexandre?"

"I think you need to leave, _Mademoiselle_." His tone was glacial and Aimee saw the girl physically flinch.

Eponine leant across the table. "I'm very confused now. Any ideas?"

Aimee whispered quietly in the other girl's ear. "This is the girl Feuilly proposed to over the holidays; I think her name is Annette. Her father turned him down flat and she didn't protest at all."

Eponine winced. "Harsh."

"That I agree with, but I think she is getting a fair amount of payback." Annette was protesting wildly as Madam Hucheloup attempted to drag her out again. Feuilly had turned his back to her and was stonily regarding the opposite wall, while the rest of the Amis just looked from one to the other awkwardly.

Unable to see the Annette in distress any longer, Aimee rose and swiftly crossed the room. "I'll take her," she murmured quietly. Wrapping her arm around Annette's shaking shoulders she led the crying girl down the stairs to the main part of the café and sat her at a table.

* * *

Sitting down opposite her, Aimee regarded her with an unfathomable expression on her face. "I assume you are Annette?" she said bluntly.

Annette jumped slightly but after a moment nodded miserably. "How do you know who I am?"

"I know Feuilly, in fact I know all of the boys, but that is another story for another time." Aimee relaxed her posture and rested her chin on her hand. "I'm Aimee."

"A pleasure to meet you." The response was automatic. It seemed she had been brought up with good manners.

"I was the one who found Feuilly drunk out of his mind and crying on New Year's Eve."

Annette's eyes snapped upwards and the guilt in them, obvious despite the veil of tears, took Aimee's breath away.

"I was such a _coward_!" The self-loathing in her tone was painful to hear. "I let the man I love be sent out of my life without saying a word in his defence!"

Wordlessly, Aimee handed over a handkerchief.

"I let me Father bully me into silence and listened to me Mother's twisted lies about how he wasn't good enough or was only after my money. I was so stupid!" she angrily wiped the tears away. "It's taken me this long to realise just how stupid I was but it's too late. I've come to apologize and he won't even look at me."

"You can't have been expecting him to welcome you back with open arms?" Aimee's tone was harsh, and Annette meekly shook her head.

"No, but I was at least expecting him to look at me." She suddenly looked very, very young, not that she could have been over twenty any way. "I knew it was a gamble, and I guess I've lost." She made to get to her feet. "I just need to try and get home before Father and Mother get back from their holiday."

"Wait." Aimee grabbed her wrist, stopping her from leaving. "When I found Feuilly on New Year's Eve, he was a mess. But despite the humiliation, and pain, and loss he was feeling, he told me that he still loved you despite it."

"He did?" A tinkle of hope sounded in Annette's voice.

Aimee took a breath. "I can talk to him if you would like. I can't promise anything, but I may be able to convince him to at least hear you out."

Annette nodded eagerly and happily complied when Aimee told her to stay at the table.

* * *

Aimee received a few glances as she came back into the room, but all prying eyes moved away as she moved towards Feuilly, who had now hidden himself away in a dark corner with a large bottle of something.

"I'm playing messenger and peace keeper." Aimee explained to Eponine as she passed.

Eponine pulled a face. "Been there, done that and it's not a lot of fun."

Aimee remembered what Eponine had told her about delivering Marius messages to the girl he was in love with. What was her name? Corset? Collette? Oh, Cossette.

Pushing the gossip out of her mind, Aimee tapped Feuilly on the shoulder to let him she was there, and then sat down next to him.

"Interesting evening, hm?" she asked, watching his face for a reaction.

He chuckled darkly and took a drink. "You could say that."

"She really wants to talk to…"

"No."

Aimee paused, knowing she was on dangerous ground. "Why not?"

"Because she broke my heart and bloody danced on the pieces, that's why!" The venom in his tone made Aimee flinch.

Seeing this he muttered, "Sorry," then took another drink.

Aimee tried again, remembering the desperate girl downstairs. "She really is sorry, Feuilly. She's come here and is willing to give everything up for you."

"Sorry isn't going to cut it. Not in this case."

Going out on a limb, Aimee said, "I saw your face when she first came in, I know you still love her. Why not give her a chance?"

Feuilly seemed to freeze up again, like he had when Annette had first walked in, and Aimee was afraid she had crossed a line.

"Because she broke the one thing that I have spent my whole life protecting; my heart." His grey eyes bored into Aimee's, filled with pain and loss. "I pulled myself out of the gutter and when you're doing that, you can't afford to care about anything. But then I met Annette and… she broke through that." he closed his eyes in remembrance and a slight smile graced his lips. "I remember, I'd just worked a fourteen hour day and I was so tired I could have fallen into bed and slept for a week. I was covered in paint and my hands were about to start cramping from all the work I'd done and then she walked into the shop and I felt my world stop." He gave a wry smile. "I know I sound like Pontmercy, but I understand what he means. I didn't say anything to her apart from to sell her a fan, one of mine, but I promised myself if I saw her again I would try. A week later, she came back in and I struck up a conversation with her." His face fell. "But I guess she didn't care for me as much as she said."

"She does care Feuilly; she's left everything for you. Please, just go and talk to her." Aimee was about to start begging. The two of them still obviously cared for each other; they just had to rise above their previous mistakes and grievances.

After a moment of consideration, Feuilly nodded and stood up. Without another word to anyone, he left the room and almost ran down the stairs.

Aimee smiled slightly as she made her way back to Enjolras, who was looking at her strangely. She shrugged. "What?"

"You should learn how to debate, you're very persuasive." He eyed the necklace that was hanging free down her front. "You were about to tell me something before all this drama began?"

* * *

Most of the Amis gathered around as Aimee, with some help from Courfeyrac, told of their adventures and discoveries of the day. One by one they studied the inscription on her necklace as she passed it round and Jehan and Bahorel gave her a hug as she told them the content of her flashback, once again edited. She wasn't quite sure what they would do if she told them the whole thing.

At last, she came to the end of her tale, just about supressing a huge yawn.

"Time for us to return home, I think." Enjolras was on his feet quickly to help Aimee into her coat and so missed the amused glance that Courfeyrac and Combeferre shared.

Aimee gave each of the Amis a hug and waved goodbye from the doorway before descending to street level with Enjolras just behind her.

As they exited the café, Aimee couldn't supress a smile as she saw Feuilly and Annette were still at the corner table, deep in discussion, their hands intertwined on the table top. When Enjolras saw where she was looking, he scoffed quietly, rolled his eyes, and muttered something about 'everyone is turning into Pontmercy' as he opened the door, but secretly he was pleased for his friend. For Marius, love was the distraction, whereas for Feuilly it was the absence of it that distracted him.

The night seemed very dark and foreboding after the light and good humour of the café and Aimee instinctively moved closer to Enjolras. As they passed the alleyway that featured in too many of her nightmares, she moved closer still and surprised them both by slipping her hand into his. Both of them had forgone gloves that day and the skin on skin contact was unfamiliar, yet vaguely comforting.

They had only taken a few steps when Aimee spoke, her voice gentle and quiet. "I'm glad it was you."

"Hm?" Enjolras had a feeling to what she was referring, but he wanted to hear her say it.

"I'm glad it was you who found me." She gave his fingers a squeeze. "I thank God every day it was you."

"And I thank Him every day it was _you _that I found." The words rolled easily off his tongue. He could say it so easily now. _I think I am a little in love with you. _But he didn't, as he knew he wouldn't, because the words may be simple to say, but they would change everything and in this moment, he was truly happy.

**A/N Aww, that last bit with Enjolras and Aimee was so cute to write. Hope you guys enjoyed the drama but I do have a few questions. What did you think of Annette? How much do you want her to feature? Should I write a spinoff of her and Feuilly's story when I've finished ADVOE? Mentioning finishing, I have the whole of the plot laid out now which is pretty exciting. If you're able, tell me your thoughts and reactions in a review; they are much appreciated.**

**Until next time mon amis!**


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N A MASSIVE thank you to all you lovely people who reviewed or if you followed and favourited. I can't explain how much it means to me! Things get…interesting in this chapter. R and R if you don't mind so I can see your reactions (good or bad). Enjoy!**

**P.S. The 50****th**** reviewer will win a one shot written especially for them! Cos' I'm just really lovely like that! **

**Disclaimer: Roses are red, violets are blue, I don't own Les Mis and neither do you. (Unless you're Victor Hugo, but that throws off the rhyme)**

**Chapter Eighteen**

The sound of the wind rattling the shutters was the first thing that filtered through to Enjolras as he slowly awoke. With a soundless groan, he rolled over and checked the time on his watch, groaning again as he saw it was only half past six. Despite what his friends said, and despite the fact that he regularly worked all night, Enjolras did enjoy sleeping. It was just that sometimes, there were more important things to be doing.

He sat up slowly, surprised that for once he had actually slept in his bed rather than hunched over in his desk chair, not that his back was complaining. Stretching his arms high above his head, he rolled his neck to work out the stiffness before swinging his legs out of bed, stretching again once he was standing.

The cold water in his wash basin woke him up properly and after a quick wash, he got dressed, ready for the new day. The sound of Aimee moving about in the kitchen reached his ears as he stood before the mirror tying his cravat, and he smiled. It seemed he wasn't the only one awake at this time. Gentle memories of the night before flew through his mind; the feel of her hand in his as they walked had felt so _right _in a way that he couldn't put into adequate words. He was suddenly desperate to see her even though she was only in the next room. He grinned to himself in the mirror as he perfected the knot of his cravat. Even he was starting to turn into Pontmercy! With a final tug on the lapels of his jacket, Enjolras headed towards the kitchen.

* * *

Aimee ensured that the fire in the kitchen had properly caught before turning away to pour out Enjolras' coffee, adding a splash of milk, just how he liked it. A moment later and Enjolras appeared, decked out in his favourite scarlet waistcoat under his winter jacket. Dark brown breeches and his boots completed his attire. As always, he looked dashing and handsome and Aimee felt a strange flutter in the pit of her stomach as he flashed a genuine smile at her in thanks for his coffee.

"It might rain today." He commented between sips. "Good thing you don't need to go out."

The nervous energy that had been plaguing her all night forced her to contradict him. "Actually, I am going out, hopefully." She took in the puzzled look on his face, seeing him check through his memory to see if she had mentioned something and he had forgotten. It was rather endearing.

He must have finally reached the conclusion that he wasn't guilty of a faulty memory, and asked, "I thought Courfeyrac was job hunting today and couldn't take you out?"

Aimee nodded to show he was correct. "I know Courfeyrac is busy, but I really would like to go back to the library to try and see if there is any more information about what we learned yesterday. Then I want to go to the police station." Her eyes flickered up to meet his, questioning. "I don't suppose you could take me this morning could you?"

"I have classes all morning." He said apologetically, and then frowned. "Why do you need to go to the police? I think it might be a bit late to report the attack on you, it was months ago..."

"I couldn't sleep last night." She cut across him swiftly.

"More nightmares?"

His face expressed his worry, so she shook her head to show the negative. "I was thinking, for hours and hours I was thinking, the same questions rolling around inside my head." She held the locket up so that it swung gently before her eyes. "What is the story behind this? What did it mean to me? But mostly; how did this get into my purse?"

Enjolras nodded slightly. The same question had been worrying at his subconscious somewhat as well. He had thought up various scenarios, none of them pleasant, all of them threatening to Aimee's wellbeing.

"Eventually, I realised how simple the answer was." Her eyes were bright with excitement as they met his. "It was my Father, trying to get in contact with me, it has to be!"

Enjolras didn't seem to share in her excitement as his face shuttered and his gaze turned cool and contemplative.

"Yes, yes, it's a very interesting theory, but highly unlikely." His tone was cool and slightly haughty and Aimee couldn't keep the surprise off her face.

She had been expecting a little more of a reaction than that and certainly a more positive and supportive one. What had happened to the kind and considerate man she had walked home hand in hand with the night before?

He finished his coffee in a few large gulps, then stood, seemingly bored of the conversation. "Stay here for this morning, read or something, and if I have the time I could take you over the library this afternoon."

His total lack of regard for her feelings jarred her. He knew how much this meant to her, how eager she was for any clue as to her past. Swallowing her rising irritation and putting his lack of care down to him being preoccupied, Aimee tried to explain herself and reason with him.

"I don't want to sit around, Julien, when I could be using that time to find out more information about what happened to me and my Father." She was adamant. "If it would be easier, drop me off at the library on your way to classes, I can be ready to go in two minutes. You could then pick me back up after you've finished."

He let out an irritated sigh and peered down at her. It wasn't just his vastly increased height that made Aimee feel small. The way he was looking at her was distinctly condescending.

"From the events you have remembered, it seems highly unlikely that you father is…alive." He measured his words carefully, but his tone was as if he was speaking to a child.

She shook her head vehemently. "I remember him being _hurt _Julien, not being killed. Also, if I managed to escape wherever we were taken, there is a fair chance he did too." She watched as he pressed his lips into a thin line, a sign of his rising frustration. She was confused. Why was he getting so worked up over this?

"Alright, for the sake of the argument, let's say he _is_ alive and he _did_ slip the locket into your purse. Why didn't he just come and find you and introduce himself properly?" His argument sounded calm and logical and Aimee faltered in her certainty.

"He's probably in hiding." She knew she sounded less certain and hated herself for it. She wasn't going to let his pessimism and cold thinking stop her from believing her father was alive and looking for her.

"You're his _daughter_, Aimee. If he really cared, he would risk everything for you." His face remained impassive, even as he shattered her hope, and Aimee felt like she was looking at a stranger, or more appropriately, the stranger Enjolras had been before they got to know each other.

She took a deep breath to calm the sharp feeling of betrayal. "I know you may think it is unlikely, but I just _feel _it in me..."

"I think you're reading too much into this." He cut straight across her and Aimee gaped up at him. "You're being irrational, clutching at the tiniest piece of information as if it were solid truth…"

Aimee felt her temper snap, pushed on by her confusion at his behaviour and goaded by his lack of care. "Well, I'm sorry if it seems like I'm clutching at straws here, but that's because I _am_!" She jumped to her feet and glared at him. "I don't care how desperate I sound because I want to believe that my father is alive, that I have _someone _who might know what happened to me, who might have some answers!"

Her eyes met his, the usually sparkling green hard and sharp. "I am not a fool, Enjolras, nor am I child yet you treat me as if I were an infantile imbecile. No, I don't have hard cold facts. No, I don't have proof, hell; I don't even have a complete _memory_!" She clutched the locket tightly in her hand and held it up. "I _feel _though, Enjolras, a deep certainty that someone is out there looking for me. Do you remember what it is to feel?" She regretted her final words as soon as they were out of her mouth. Of course he felt, it was his passion for his country and the people in it that were driving him towards starting a rebellion, not cold numbers and facts. She opened her mouth to apologize but he cut her off.

"I am not prepared to continue this conversation with you until you are calm enough to think logically." His voice had not changed, but Aimee had seen the hurt in his face. Any idea of an apology flew out of her head at his next words. "You are being irrationally emotional about this."

Irrationally emotional?! Her anger flared to the point of speechlessness. She turned away from him, every line in her body tight with anger. "You're going to be late." There was a distinctive dismissal in her words and Enjolras let his frustration flow through. With a growl he rose to his feet and stomped to the door, wrenching it open with more force than necessary.

"Have a good day, _Mademoiselle_." The formal title stung more than an insult but it only infuriated her more. She ignored him as he slammed the door harder than he should have and remained motionless, hearing his boots thunder down the stairs.

* * *

Such was the speed of Enjolras' progress down the stairs that he nearly knocked over Margo, who was emerging from her apartment to discover what all of the noise was about.

"Is everything alright, _Monsieur_?" She had not yet had time to braid her hair and it fell in a tangled wave down her back.

"The _Mademoiselle _is being rather irrational this morning." Enjolras ground out, barely pausing on his flight to the door. "I don't think she wants to be disturbed this morning if you wouldn't mind." He caught a brief glance of Margo's surprised face before he was out of the house and tramping away down the street, his golden curls tossed into wild disarray by the wind.

Enjolras kept his face neutral, but his head was in a whirl, all of his thoughts focused on one, now probably very angry, woman. He kicked at a pebble with his boot, furious with himself. He couldn't have made a bigger mess of that conversation if he had tried. But she was just so annoying, and stubborn, and frustrating…and so very vulnerable. He kicked the pebble again, harder, watching as it skittered away from him down the street.

She thought her father was trying to contact her and had given her the necklace. He had considered the possibility, of course, but thought it to be highly unlikely. The man had either been killed outright, or at least so mortally wounded that his recovery would have taken months and months, if he recovered at all. The most likely scenario was that it had been put there by the kidnappers who had somehow tracked her down. The thought of someone watching her, following her scared him, an emotion he wasn't completely familiar with. The thought of Aimee being taken again, taken away from _him, _filled him with dread.

As far as where he and the Amis were concerned, he knew that their course of action could possibly result in one or more of their deaths. But he also knew that they understood the risks; that they all burned with the same fervour, the same passion, and were willing to make sacrifices to see their goals fulfilled. This, however, this panic, this cold, blind fear that clutched at his heart as he thought of Aimee's desperate vulnerability, her imploring need to feel loved and to belong, a need he so desperately wanted to fulfil. The thought that she could suddenly, violently, be torn from him awoke a fear in him that neither the thought of a soldier's cold bayonet nor the hissing of a hot bullet into his flesh had ever awakened.

That was why he had had to try and dissuade her from this desperate fantasy she had concocted before she got hurt again. Enjolras knew his arguments and his attitude had hurt her, but he was terrified. He was terrified of what she could be getting herself into. She had escaped near death once, by the very skin of her teeth. There was no guarantee that she would escape a second time.

He scowled fiercely at the ground. There were so many things he should be focussing on; his classes, rallies, building alliances with other groups, but he had just had to go and fall in love hadn't he? Now, of all times! He stopped suddenly in the middle of the street, narrowly avoiding being run over by a cart.

Fallen in love…?

His brain raced. Yes, he had admitted to himself that he felt an attraction to Aimee, and was protective towards her, but this, this was something altogether different. He sighed deeply. His friends joked that he wouldn't know love if it walked up to him and kissed him in the street, but he wasn't insensible as to love. Love just hadn't been able to compete with his other passions. That was, until now. Unfortunately, this line of thinking brought his thoughts straight back to Aimee and his heart gave a pang of regret as he remembered her sadness and anger, of which he had been the cause. He caught sight of the time and hurriedly made his way towards the university, thinking over the words Aimee had flung at him.

_Do you remember what it is to feel?_

That was problem. That was what had sparked his whole reaction in the first place. It wasn't that he felt too little, on the contrary. Where Aimee was concerned, he felt far too much.

* * *

Angry tears sat unshed in Aimee's eyes, only her sheer will power keeping them from falling. Dashing a hand across her eyes, removing the water completely, she gave a frustrated growl, mimicry to Enjolras' earlier outburst. Rising to her feet, she began to pace angrily, her fingers subconsciously going once again to the locket. How dare he act like he was the injured party here! How dare he talk down to her and treat her as if she was an incapable fool!

Stalking to the window she watched Enjolras' progress down the street, his blond curls thrown into wild disarray by the wind. She clenched her jaw in determination. Fine, if he didn't want to help, she would do it on her own.

Throwing on her coat, scarf and hat, she hastily scribbled a note to Margo. She felt slightly bad about sneaking out, but she knew the older woman would never allow her to go on her own. She would probably offer to come, but Aimee had no idea how long she would be out and actually, she wanted to be on her own. As she pulled on her gloves she realised that she was tired of having to depend on other people for everything, was tired of being so needy. Steeled with her new found resolve, Aimee slipped out of the apartment, then out of the building entirely and swiftly made her way out of the street.

After only a few wrong turns and having to ask for directions from a very friendly fiacre driver who eventually offered to drive her there for free, much to Aimee's relief, she reached the library.

The librarian didn't seem too pleased to see her, which was understandable after the mess she and Courfeyrac had made the day before, but it seemed apologies and polite words were the best way around his irritation.

Aimee found very little more information, but what she did find was pure gold, the best being the address of the house, of her home. Aimee felt a flutter of excited nerves as she reread all of the information she had gathered, flagging down a fiacre outside the library.

The journey to the police station couldn't go fast enough for her, but once she was there, her nerves once again assaulted her full force.

_No, _she sternly told herself, _you are not going to back down from this. You need to do this, both to prove to yourself that you are capable of doing something on your own, and to prove to Enjolras that you do not answer to him._

Squaring her shoulders, she pushed open the door and walked in what was hopefully a confident manner towards the desk. She cleared her throat politely to gain the attention of the officer on duty and gave him a bright smile.

"_Bon matin, Monsieur_, I think I may have some information about a robbery." She kept her tone polite and her expression open, knowing that the difficult part would be for him to believe her.

"When did the robbery take place?" He sounded bored for the most part and Aimee couldn't help but feel annoyed that he seemed more interested in her chest that her face.

"In October last year." She pulled out the page of the newspaper with the missing person notices that Courfeyrac had found the day previous. "It is this robbery."

He briefly scanned the text. "It says here it was also a possible kidnapping."

"Yes, I think I may have information regarding that as well."

"Well," he gave her a look that could only be regarded as a leer, "I'll need to take your name and home address. For contact reasons." He elaborated needlessly, still eyeing her cleavage despite it being covered up.

Aimee inwardly rolled her eyes. She had got so used to being around the Amis, that she had forgotten how rude and inappropriate people could be. "My name is Lyon."

"Is there a first name to go with that? I'm sure a girl as pretty as you must have a pretty name to match." He then actually had the nerve to wink at her. Aimee felt her irritation rising.

"Yes, this is where it may get a little confusing." She pointed to the news article awkwardly. "I think I may be the daughter that is mentioned in the article."

"You think…?" His expression looked bemused and somewhat sceptical.

Aimee began to feel nervous again and unconsciously shifted from foot to foot. "I was violently attacked in October last year a few days after this robbery had taken place. Due to the… injuries that I sustained in that attack…I lost all memory of who I was and of my past."

He remained silent which Aimee took to be a sign that he was listening so she carried on. "I was cared for very kindly by the people who found me and only recently have I been able to regain the memories of the robbery in which my Father and I were the victim of. Even then, the memories are only partial. However," she was disgusted at the way his eye lit up when she reached into her coat for her locket, "this appeared in my purse yesterday, and I remembered that this was given to me by my parents." She replaced the locket. "It is my belief that my father escaped our kidnappers as well and that he placed the locket in my possession as a message to me that he was alive."

She felt better for getting it all of her chest and felt elated because the young man was nodding along in understanding, taking in the information seriously. "I have some notes of research I did…" she reached into her bag for the paper, but was cut off by a barking laugh.

"My god, but you're good!" he wiped a tear of mirth from his eye. "Who was it who sent you? Bernard? Jacques? It has to be one of them; they said they were going to play a joke on me one of these days!"

Aimee stood frozen in place, horrified. He thought she was an actress and this was all a joke set up by his friends? "_Monsieur_," her voice quavered and she hated herself for it, "I am deadly serious."

His laughter abruptly stopped and he stared at her as if she had grown another head. "You're insane." He muttered.

"No, I'm not, you have to believe me!" Aimee knew she was starting to sound hysterical, but she had to prove she was serious.

"You need to leave now." He shoved the news article back towards her abruptly. "I have no time for your crazy ramblings about lost memories and a story you build in your head around an article and a probably stolen locket."

"My Father gave it to me…" Aimee tried once more, tears pricking the back of her eyes.

"Get out!" he roared, drawing the stares of some passing people. "Get out, before I arrest you for wasting police time!"

Her face burning with humiliation, Aimee half ran from the building, choking back her sobs until she found the opening to a deserted alleyway. There, she hugged her sides, gasping in gulps of air, giving out occasional sobs of distress. Enjolras had been right; she had built it all up in her head. The thought made her miserable and her humiliation was still fresh and raw. She also realised that the tiny amount of money that she had managed to earn at the Musain through playing music and singing had been almost completely spend on the cab ride here. With a heavy heart and her tears still drying on her cheeks, Aimee trudged back out into the street, hoping to find someone who was willing to give her directions back to an area she knew.

She had just reached the end of the road and was preparing to approach a shopkeeper for directions, when she felt a heavy hand clap down around her shoulders. Such was her surprise, and fear, that she acted on sheer instinct, spinning around and slamming the heel of her hand upwards towards where she judged the nose of her attacker would be. There was a satisfying crunch and a burst of swearing, but before Aimee could take flight, the hand reattached itself to her arm, its grip tight, but not bruising. Aimee struggled to pull away, but suddenly a ring on the man's finger (for it was certainly a man) caught her eye, seeming somehow familiar.

Realising her mistake, Aimee whirled towards her attacker, apology written all over her face. "Bahorel, I'm so sorry!"

The sight before her made her feel even worse. A steady gush of blood ran from his nose, down his face, dripped off his chin and liberally spattered the front of his shirt and waistcoat, but he looked bemused more than anything. He waved off her apology, clapping a ragged handkerchief to his nose, wiping away the blood matter-of-factly, and then grinned.

"You have a lot of explaining to do, _mon petite_."

**A/N Hope you enjoyed some angst, emotional revelations, and being introduced to a more determined Aimee! I just felt she was always a little…needy. I know she has been through some bad stuff, but she's a really gutsy girl and I wanted to start bringing across that side of her.**

**Anyway, please do review and tune in next time for some serious drama…**

**Until then, mon amis!**

**Libz**


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N Mamma Mia! Here we go again! Wrong musical I know, but I'm all for crossovers. :D Okay, I apologize in advance, but I made up a Les Mis centred joke today for no apparent reason (sad I know, I obviously have far too much time on my hands). Here we go: **

**Q. What do you call a pile of wheelbarrows?**

**A. A ****BARROW****cade *cringes***

**Yeah, I'm just going to go and start buying cats in advance for when I turn into a mad cat lady. Bye. **

**P.S. Congratulations to ****Love and kill**** who was my 50****th**** reviewer! I'll get working on that one shot as soon as I have the time, so keep an eye out. **

**Disclaimer: Who am I? Not Vic- tor Hu- gooooooo! *insert high note here***

**Chapter Nineteen**

"What the hell happened to you?!" burst out Combeferre when Aimee and a still gore covered Bahorel appeared in the back room of the Musain.

"It turns out that Aimee has a mean swing." Bahorel muttered, collapsing into a chair and grumpily submitting to Joly's medical ministrations.

"And why, pray tell, did Aimee feel the need to try and break your nose?" Combeferre sounded bemused and his eyes twinkled playfully behind his thin rimmed spectacles.

Bahorel gave a sly grin and looked over to where Aimee was standing, a distinct blush staining her cheeks. "Why don't you tell them, _mon petite amour_?" She had told him the whole story, only omitting parts of the conversation (alright argument) that she had had with Enjolras, in the forty or so minutes it had taken for them to walk to the Musain.

Aimee jumped slightly at being addressed, a strange feeling of familiarity washing over her. She heard her Father's voice calling her the same endearment, always right after he said her name. A wave of frustrated tears blurred her vision unexpectedly, and she wiped them away angrily. If she could remember that, then why couldn't she remember her name!

The Amis exchanged worried glances when they caught sight of her tears, none of them quite sure how to react.

"I can tell them if you would rather," Bahorel offered, guessing, correctly so, that Aimee was a little embarrassed by the events of that day. However, he was incorrect in guessing that her embarrassment was the cause of her tears.

"I am perfectly capable of it myself, thank you!" Aimee snapped, surprising them all again. Aimee was rarely anything other than happy, occasionally prone to bouts of worry and melancholy, but she was never this snappish.

"I took myself to the police station today and tried to explain my situation and my suspicions that my father was trying to contact by giving me the necklace." More tears sprang unbidden into her eyes as she remembered the humiliation. "He laughed in my face, thinking it was all a joke set up by a co-worker. When he realised I was serious, he said I was mad and yelled at me to get out before he arrested me for wasting police time." She took a deep shuddering breath, collapsing limply onto the piano stool. "Enjolras was right," she muttered miserably to herself, "I was making something out of nothing." She wrapped her arms around herself and shrugged. "Who knows, maybe I am mad."

"If so, you can join the club." Although Grantaire's comment was flippant, Aimee heard the concern behind the words.

"I'm mostly concerned about the fact that you went out on your own." Joly fussed, checking her temperature and pulse and instructing her have a spoonful of a vile smelling liquid that looking like bog water that was supposed to calm her nerves.

Aimee refused, partially amused and partially annoyed. "I was sick of being so needy all the time. I wanted to do something on my own for once. Prove Enjolras wrong." She added the last part in whisper, but Grantaire's sharp ears picked it up.

"Oh dear, what has our Marble Man gone and done now?"

"Nothing." Seeing their disbelieving faces, Aimee partially elaborated. "He was a little insensitive this morning, that's all."

"What she's trying to say is that I was an unfeeling ass." Enjolras' voice came from the doorway.

His unexpected arrival, and his unexpected words, made Aimee jump. She gave him a surprised look, before remembering she was still angry with him and forming her face into a scowl.

"Care to elaborate?" Grantaire queried, a small smirk appearing on his face after viewing their exchange.

"No," Enjolras replied tersely. He then tossed something onto the drunkard's table. "These are the old designs, I didn't know if you wanted them as a reference or inspiration or what."

"Sorry, I'm a little lost? Why would I need the old pamphlet designs?" Genuine confusion showed clearly on Grantaire's face but Aimee's heart leapt as she realised what Enjolras was doing.

"I want you to redesign our pamphlets. That is, if you have to time?" The question was asked sarcastically, but Grantaire didn't seem to mind. He looked torn between grinning like a fool and crying at being trusted again.

"I'm sure I can squeeze you in somewhere." A massive smile split his face and Aimee couldn't help but smile with him.

Her smile faltered a little when Enjolras indicated with a jerk of his head that he wanted to speak to her in the corridor. She dearly wanted to glare at his rudeness and ignore him, but she really couldn't be bothered.

Once they were stood outside, Enjolras closed the door so that they were cut off from the curious eyes of the others and then leaned against the wall opposite her, his face blank and impossible to read.

Determined to play him at his own game, Aimee crossed her arms and raised one eyebrow in challenge. "Did you want to say something? Or am I still being 'irrationally emotional' like this morning?"

He grimaced as she quoted his own words back at him. "I apologize for that, it was uncalled for." He took a deep breath. "I heard what you said about your…trip… this morning."

Aimee flushed and looked away. "You can say 'I told you so' now." Her voice was flat.

He shook his head, a frown creasing his forehead. "I am not that petty. I have thought you knew me well enough by now to know that."

She turned her head to look at him again, hurt etched into her features. "Yes, I thought I did know you, especially after the time we spent together over Christmas. But then," she shook her head tiredly. "after how you acted this morning…" her shoulders slumped. She didn't want to fight anymore. She was just so tired of today and it was only mid-afternoon. "I felt like I was talking to a stranger." She finished.

He began to try and speak but she waved for him to be quiet. "I quite frankly don't care anymore. You were right, in the end."

"I'm still sorry about how I went about it." The words seemed awkward coming out of his mouth and Aimee couldn't help getting the feeling that Enjolras didn't apologize often.

"Some of the things I said were unnecessary too." She admitted with a sigh. They were silent, but after a minute, Aimee thrust her hand out towards him. "Forgive and forget?"

He seemed startled for a moment, but then took her hand. "Forgive and forget. But I'm still not happy with you sneaking off this morning. Margo was in a complete state when I got home." He gave her a smile to show he was not truly cross and Aimee felt a strange tingle in her belly at the sight of his lopsided grin, enjoying the feel of his hand in hers. _There's the Enjolras I know and lo…_

"Oh, the scandal! Our Noble Leader partaking in an illicit tryst and right outside the door of our meeting room no less! Shame on you, sir! _Shame_ on you!"

The two of them jumped apart and Aimee hastily stepped forwards to slap a grinning Courfeyrac around the back of his head.

"Not funny!" she growled, snatching up his hat from where it had fallen to the ground and running into the meeting room.

Courfeyrac gave a squawk of displeasure and promptly ran after her. "Oi! Give me back my hat, you evil little sprite!"

Her earlier dismal mood forgotten, Aimee giggled as she led her best friend a merry dance around the room, jumping around chairs and tables, dodging under his arms and, with help of Grantaire, who placed her on a table, successfully deposited the hat in a niche up near the ceiling.

Jehan, who had been behind Courfeyrac on the stairs, laughed openly as his friend attempted to retrieve his hat. As Courfeyrac was only of average height, he was forced to balance precariously on a chair, grasping his hat triumphantly a moment before he lost his balance and tumbled to the floor with a yelp of surprise and a thud. Aimee was the first to scurry forwards to help him up and even dusted down his coat as he grumbled about having horrible friends who didn't respect a man's attachment to his hat.

"So, how did the job hunting go?" Aimee asked when he had finally stopped grumbling and was settled with a glass of wine and a plate of warm bread, creamy Brie cheese, and some smoked meat in front of him. The serving girls adored Courfeyrac and so he was almost always guaranteed an above average meal.

He took a deep drink of his wine before replying. "I have resolved my issues with law clerking and have secured myself a very handsome position at a well renowned law firm. And yes, Enjolras before you start pestering me, they are somewhat sympathetic to our ideas and our cause and do a lot of pro bono legal work for those in unfortunate circumstances." He took another drink. "All in all they seem like a very good place." He noticed Bahorel's bruised nose. "Good grief! You got into a brawl and you didn't invite me? It had better have been over something worthwhile."

"Don't ever put your arm around Aimee's shoulders unannounced, that's all I'm saying." Bahorel shot her a wink and went back to baiting Joly over how his complexion was looking a little pasty and wasn't that a symptom for something?

Upon realizing what Bahorel had meant, Courfeyrac threw his head back and laughed. "Got some fight in you, hm? Well," he tapped her nose lightly, "we already knew that didn't we? Never underestimate a girl's swing; I learnt that the hard way. I remember when I was ten, I got into an argument with a girl from my home town in Provence and when she couldn't think up a counter argument, she punched me in the face and walked off!" He chuckled at the memory.

Although unintentional, Courfeyrac's words sent Aimee back into the state they had been before his and Enjolras' arrival and she excused herself to go and sit in a corner for some peace and quiet. She rested her chin on her hand and sighed deeply. They all had memories of their childhoods and she had nothing. Maybe a few brief images, a snatch of a conversation or the hint of a tune. So many things lost to her, possibly forever. She didn't know how long she had been sat there when Jehan slid quietly into the chair beside and gave her a gentle smile.

"How are you, Jehan?" she asked, glad to have a distraction from her heavy thoughts. "Oh, and Ophelia of course." The familiar grey head popped out of his satchel at the mention of her name, instantly disappearing again when she saw nothing of interest.

"We're fine." He leaned forwards, interest flashing in his eyes, "I was just wondering where you learnt that song?"

Aimee gave him a puzzled frown. "Which song?"

His expression matched hers. "The one you were humming just now." He then hummed a gentle melody back to her and Aimee felt a buzz in her head as another memory sprang back into focus.

_Dancing dust motes spinning around the polished wood of the piano, their serenity completely at odds with the frustration she was feeling. Her fingers stumbling over the difficult piece of music, trying again and again until she gave up with a growl and a harsh grating of notes as she slammed her hands down on the keys, a soft voice, a new melody…_

"My mother used to sing it to me when I was having a really difficult time with something." An involuntary tear leaked from her eye, but she brushed it away impatiently, determined to embrace the memory as a happy experience, not a sad one.

"You remember the tune?" Jehan's face lit up with excitement.

Aimee gave him a wide smile. "I remember the words too!" She stood up and scrambled over to the piano bench, her heart thrumming with excitement. She settled her fingers on the keys and gave a bright smile. "I think the words are rather apt for today." With that she began to play and, a moment later, to sing.

_There's a song that's inside of my soul, it's the one that I've tried to write over and over again. I'm awake in the infinite cold, but You sing to me over and over and over again._

_So I lay my head back down, and I lift my hands and pray. To be only Yours I pray, to be only Yours. I know now you're my only hope._

The forgotten notes and lyrics came once again to Aimee and she felt a swell of emotion in her heart as a flood of memories accompanied the music. Up until now, her memories of her Maman had been few and far between so Aimee relished the images, sealing them away in her heart. _Playing the piano together, walking through green fields full of sunshine and laughter, whispered conversations as her hair was brushed, lovingly brushed, encouraging words and caresses as she battled over a difficult piece of music or schoolwork, love, always love._

_Sing to me the song of the stars, of Your galaxy dancing and laughing  
and laughing again. When it feels like my dreams are so far, sing to me of the plans that You have for me over again._

_So I lay my head back down, and I lift my hands and pray. To be only yours  
I pray to be only yours, I know now you're my only hope._

_Long brown hair, just like hers, dark eyes that were constantly full of joy, skin the color of milky coffee, spoken endearments in another language, a language she had been taught to speak. Italian? Yes, Italian._ Her heart filled with joy at this found puzzle piece, Aimee launched into the next verse, her voice filled the joy.

_I give You my destiny, I'm giving You all of me. I want Your symphony singing in all that I am. At the top of my lungs I'm giving it back._

_Her voice mingling perfectly with her mother's as both of them hit the highest note in the song together._ For a moment, Aimee felt like she was singing with her mother again, singing the duet that was so close to both of their hearts.

_So I lay my head back down, and I lift my hands and pray. To be only Yours I pray. To be only Yours I pray to be only Yours. I know now You're my only hope._

She hummed the last few notes again, letting the notes of the music slow down to a melodic ending. The room erupted into applause, all of the Amis cheering, even Enjolras. Aimee laughed, sniffing away tears at the same time. The song had unlocked so much within her; she didn't know which emotion to choose. She was just composing herself when she spotted a stranger standing by the open door, joining in with the applause, a strange look on his face.

Noticing that Aimee's gaze was directed towards the door, the rest of the Amis did too, several of them rising to their feet protectively when they spotted the man. He held up his hands to show he meant no harm and, rather bravely, advanced further into the room.

He was old, Aimee could tell that much, but not to the point of being decrepit. He was probably in his mid to late fifties with greying hair that had once been dark blond. His face was lined from laughter and his deep brown eyes were kind.

"You have a wonderful voice, _mademoiselle._" He sounded sincere and the Amis relaxed slightly and returned to their seats. Only Bahorel remained standing, more than ready to remove the man if necessary.

Aimee felt herself flushing as she ducked her head at the complement. "Thank you, _Monsieur_. You are too kind."

"I would like to offer you a job."

Aimee's head snapped up and she gaped at him, along with most of the Amis.

The man chuckled at their reaction. "I don't like to dance around the topic at hand. My name is Jacques Chavenage; I own a theatre, _Théâtre de__la Reine_. It is small, but successful having been open for forty years or so. I must confess that I wanted to give you the job the moment I heard you singing from downstairs, but I couldn't bear to interrupt your performance." He smiled, slightly wistful of a sudden. "You're voice reminded me of some else, a young Italian singer I knew, a long time ago." He suddenly looked at her intently, as if seeing her for the first time. "You even look like her, same hair, same voice, and that song…" he muttered, shaking his head as if to clear it. "My apologies, I am being extraordinarily rude. Not only have I interrupted your gathering, I have not even asked your name!"

Aimee stood quickly and dropped a curtsy, much to the Amis amusement. "My name is Aimee Lyon." She rather self-consciously realized that this was the first time she had been able to introduce herself with a surname, _her _surname. It filled a gap in her heart that had been empty for some time and the joy manifested itself outwardly in a radiant smile. She briefly introduced the Amis, who nodded their heads in greeting, some politely, but most of them wary and a little suspicious.

Chavenage eyed them a little nervously but mostly with amusement at their protectiveness. "I would like you to start as soon as possible. That is, if you are interested?"

Aimee thought for a moment. A job _would _be very useful. It would give her some independence, a chance to meet some new people, and she had the strangest conviction that this man had known her mother. The fact that he knew a song that her mother wrote was a fairly large indication of this. She couldn't be sure, but she was going to find out.

Another factor of course was the money. Although the pay probably wouldn't be much, it would give her some money of her own. As much as she loved the Amis, she felt bad relying on them for the majority of her food, care and board. It would also give her some money to help her pursue her investigation into her past. However, she felt that this was something she needed to think about. "Would be possible for me to have some time to think on it?"

A large smile crossed the older man's face. "Certainly, and I believe that it is very wise of you to consider things before rushing into them. If it would help, I could you a letter detailing exactly what your duties would be if you accept? Working times, pay, that sort of thing?"

"Yes, that would be most appreciated." Aimee scrambled to find a piece of paper to scrawl Enjolras' address on, eventually taking a piece off Combeferre and borrowing Enjolras' pen.

With a parting bow and a small smile, Chavenage took his leave, carefully closing the door on the way out. There was silence in the room until Aimee broke it with a delighted laugh.

"I've been offered a job!" She clapped her hands together in delight. "An offer to sing as a job!"

Courfeyrac leapt to his feet and swung her around the room as she laughed giddily. The others soon joined in with exclamations and congratulations, except for Enjolras, but in her excitement Aimee didn't notice.

"What did I miss?" A bemused looking Marius was stood at the door, his eyes bright and his cheeks reddened by the wind.

"Do you mean this afternoon, or over the past week?" Enjolras' voice was icy and everyone flinched. Marius flushed and looked at the floor.

Aimee felt compelled to break the awkward silence. "I got offered a job today, just now actually, to work at a theatre, _Théâtre de la Reine._" She gave her announcement with a smile and ushered for him to sit down, ignoring Enjolras' scowl as she did so.

Marius looked pleasantly surprised. "I've been there a few times over the years. It's very well renowned even if it is not of the highest standard." He gave a wistful smile. "I went to a show there over the holidays, with my family and Cosette." The dreamy sigh that accompanied the utterance of her name made many of the Amis roll their eyes and turn away.

"How is Cosette?" Aimee had learned a little about her from Eponine, but she didn't necessarily trust the other girl's judgment. While Eponine was her friend, she knew she harboured a slight resentment for Cosette, even if she was getting over Marius.

The smile Marius gave her could only be described as radiant. "I haven't seen her as often as I would like, but even seeing her a little is better than the torment I have been in for these past few years." He went on to tell her everything about Cosette, like how she was back in France as a companion to the wife of a rich gentleman whose parents had known Marius' grandfather. Apparently, when Cosette's father had died, it transpired that he was an awful lot richer than had been apparent. Unfortunately, the bulk of the money he had buried somewhere for safe keeping and so Cosette was having to find a way to get to the location of the money and then deal with it accordingly.

Marius turned melancholy at this. "I have offered to help her, but I am without the funds to do so. My cousin however," he grimaced at the mention of this relation, "has more than enough money, he is an officer in the cavalry you know, and Cosette seems to have caught his eye." He slumped dejectedly. "She still holds affection for me, but for how long? When I am nothing but a penniless student and Theodule is…so much more."

Aimee couldn't help but roll her eyes. She had been sat listening to him rant on for a good couple of hours, in which time the rest of the Amis had trickled in (apart from Feuilly, but no one was surprised), along with Eponine and a skinny urchin who Aimee remembered was Eponine's younger brother, Gavroche. She could manage dreamy overshare, but she couldn't take his depressed moaning. "I'm sure you'll work something out." She said soothingly, silently begging with her eyes for someone to help her. That someone came in the unexpected form of Enjolras.

"Marius," he stalked over to the table and set a bundle of papers before the depressed young man. "We are having some new pamphlets designed so I would like the written content to be updated as well. One of your few real talents is writing the content of pamphlets, so I would appreciate it if you could have the new drafts ready to go the printer in a few weeks."

Marius nodded dumbly, glad to have been spared a furious lecture by his friend and leader and was soon dragged into a game of cards by Courfeyrac and Bahorel, the latter of which gave him the story of his broken nose, which equally amused and horrified Marius.

"I'd like to talk to you." Enjolras leaned in towards her so that their conversation was private.

"What about?" Aimee also leaned in and lowered her voice, trying to ignore how her heart raced at her close proximity to revolutionary.

"I think we need to discuss it _privately_." He gave a pointed look to the nosier members of their group who quickly turned back to their own conversations and games.

"Do you want to go back to the apartment then?" Aimee reached for her coat. "I think Margo might appreciate an explanation from me about today and I'm quite tired."

Enjolras nodded and after gathering all of their belongings and saying a hasty farewell to the Amis, they set out into the rapidly darkening afternoon.

There was no hand holding on this journey, each of the parties keeping their hands to themselves. As they walked, Aimee cast a sideways glance at Enjolras through her lashes, studying his tense expression. Why was he acting so strange?

**A/N The song Aimee sang was Only Hope by Mandy Moore. Cookies if you know what film it is from. More cookies if you can find the connection between the name of the theatre and Les Mis.**

** I didn't really like the end, but a really important part is coming up next chapter and this was getting REALLY long so…meh. Let me know what you think. You know, even though this had got quite a few follows, not many of you are reviewing. I really would appreciate knowing if my followers are actually reading and enjoying this. Okay, I'm done whining now.**

**Until next time mes amis,**

**Libz**


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N Before we start, here's just a couple of notes. Thank you to everyone who reviewed, I cannot express how much your encouragement, enthusiasm, and kind words mean to me. **

**Also, I'm going to recommend a story to you all **_**'Smells like Bohemian Spirit'**_** by ****FabulouslyFreeSpirited****. It is one of the finest E/É fictions that I have ever come across and I can guarantee it will make you laugh, cry, hold your breath with suspense and 'aww', I know I certainly did.**

**Okay, drama in this chapter and a bit of romance. I'll just explain this now for those of you that might get confused. The conversation that Enjolras has with Aimee at the beginning of the chapter, all of his thoughts are in italics. What he actually says is in normal.**

**Disclaimer: If I had written Les Miserables would I have gone on random twelve chapter long tangents about the Battle of Waterloo? No, therefore I am not Victor Hugo.**

**Chapter Twenty**

The walk home proceeded in silence, each of them wrapped up in their own personal thoughts. The silence was short-lived once they arrived back at their apartment, however, as Margo emerged from her set of rooms to greet them. Greeting them was actually more like a thorough scolding.

"You had me worried sick!" Margo screeched, wrapping Aimee up in a bruising hug. "No…no, don't try to get out of it by saying you left a note! You still frightened me to death and Enjolras wasn't much better when he came home at lunchtime to find you gone!"

Aimee quickly glanced over her shoulder to give Enjolras a quizzical look, but he refused to make eye contact, instead just standing by the door with his arms crossed over his chest, his whole stance stiff and uncomfortable.

"Margo, I'm sorry for distressing you, truly," Aimee placed her hands on the older woman's shoulders and smiled, her eyes bright with excitement, "but I have some very important news for you."

"What is it?" Instantly Margo forgot about her scolding. "Oh! Did you find out more about your father? Your past?"

"A little of both." Aimee gave the landlady, who was more like a mother to her really, a full account of her day, paying special attention to the fact that she discovered the address of what she was sure was her former residence, and the fact that she had been offered a job. "And I just have this overwhelming feeling that _Monsieur _Chavenage knew my mother." Aimee finally ran out of steam, panting slightly from the speed at which she had talked.

Margo sat thoughtfully for a moment and seemed about to speak, when Enjolras, who had remained by the door the whole time, broke in. "I really do think we should retire for the night, Aimee. You have had a long day and I have quite a large amount of work to do." He held the door open for her, his want to leave for their own rooms very much apparent.

"Here, take some food with you." Margo bustled into the kitchen and returned with a steaming dish of _coq en vin_ and a plate of fresh bread. "I made too much for me to eat and it will only go to waste." This was a lie of course and all three of them knew it. Margo cooked far too much on purpose so that she could feed her two young tenants. "I'm sure the last thing either of you feel like doing is making something to eat and I doubt you had anything at the Musain." She thrust the dishes at them and ushered them out of the door with shooing motions and a cheerful smile.

She closed it carefully behind them, her cheery demeanour falling away to be replaced with one of worry. She had been watching Enjolras out of the corner of her eye the whole time Aimee had been talking to her, noting his reactions to Aimee's words. His face had remained basically impassive, as if he knew he was being watched, until Aimee began discussing the job she was offered. At that moment, Margo had seen through into the young man's very soul, a bundle of conflicting emotions appearing in his eyes. She sighed deeply. She had a very bad feeling that the discussion the two of them were invariably having right now was not going to end well, one way or another.

* * *

Aimee continued to chatter aimlessly as she found them both some cutlery and dishes for the _coq en vin _and dug a half full bottle of wine from the back of a cupboard. Enjolras sat at the table, drawing patterns onto the wood and nodding his head occasionally to prove he was at least half listening. He had briefly considered bolting for his room the moment they entered the apartment, the quickly brushed the idea aside. He needed to talk to Aimee; this was a conversation that had to happen.

Although he wasn't particularly religious, Enjolras waited patiently as Aimee said grace, giving thanks for the food, the kindness of Margo and their friends, and for the job she had been offered. She had just taken her first bite of food when Enjolras spoke.

"I don't think you should take the job." He spoke quietly, his fork prodding at the rapidly cooling food in front of him.

Aimee paused a moment in surprise before swallowing. "Why?"

_Because it will mean you taking a step away from me. Because having a job like that will draw attention to you, possibly the attention of your kidnappers. Because I'm scared for you. _Of course, he only said these things in his head. His actual answer was a lot more impersonal. "I just don't know if you can trust him."

Aimee gave him an odd look, taking another bite of her food. "I'm not going to run head long into this, Julien. I'm getting information and I'm going to check the theatre, and Chavenage, out before I make any decisions."

_But what if you get taken away again? I would feel incomplete without you in my life, which I know sounds silly considering we've only known each other a few months and only been good friends for a few weeks, but still._ "But what if you didn't like the job?"He put down his fork, not even pretending to be interested in eating anymore.

Aimee also put down her cutlery. "I just said, I'm going to check it out thoroughly. Besides, I love singing, getting to do it as a job is ideal."

_What about me._ "What about the Amis?"

She smiled. "I will always make time for my friends, no matter what job I get. Look at Feuilly, he must have three different jobs and he _still _finds the time to help plan a rebellion!"

Enjolras smiled briefly at that, but only because she would expect him to. _Will you have to leave me? Will I have to get used to an empty, impersonal apartment again?_ "Do you think you will have to move out?"

The question seemed to catch Aimee off guard, for she looked at him with a startled expression. "I don't know?" she said slowly. "I still haven't got all of the details remember?"

_Would you want to leave me? Do you care for me?_ "Would you want to move out?"

Aimee frowned, comprehension dawning in her eyes. "Do you want me to move out?" The question was tentative, her tone nervous.

Enjolras looked down at the table top, unwilling to meet her eyes lest she see the level of emotion hiding there. _No. If it were possible I would never let you leave my side for rest of our lives._ "If it was necessary for your job I wouldn't stop you."

Aimee stood up abruptly. "Is that what you wanted to talk about? Do you want me to move out?"

Enjolras stood up as well, knowing he should stop the conversation right now, tell her that she was welcome here for as long as she wanted, but he didn't. "That wasn't what I wanted to talk to you about at all. I simply wanted to discuss the job you have been offered." _Which I think is a really bad idea. _

"Well, considering you wanted to talk about my job offer you have spent an awful lot of this conversation talking about me moving out!"

"I'm just concerned about this job, that's all." He ran a hand through his curls, not feeling very certain about his next words. "I'm…worried…about you. I worry that you're not confident or strong enough to go out into the world on your own yet. I worry that you can't handle yourself." He let out a ragged breath and tried to read Aimee's face to see what she was feeling. For some reason he kept talking and in no time he was ranting, his frustrations of the day coming to a head at the worst possible time. "Do you know how hard it is for me? I'm trying to get myself through university on the tiny allowance my father sends me while also supporting two people!" He began to pace, his hands clasped behind his back. "Now on top of that, planning for the revolution has kicked off full force! I have meetings to plan, rallies to organize, I'm trying to form alliances with other groups, printing pamphlets, gathering weapons and ammunition, all while evading the police! And while I'm doing all of this, I'm also worrying myself to death over you and whether this job you've is a good idea or not!"

"So I'm a burden now am I?" Aimee hadn't moved, but her eyes bored into his.

He stopped, holding a hand up in a placating gesture. "I never said that..."

"But it's what you meant isn't it? You don't have much money and it's a struggle to stretch it for two." She took a step towards him, her still quiet voice at complete odds with the fire in her eyes. "You're trying to save the country but you can't do a proper job of it because I'm getting in your way." Another step, larger this time. "I didn't ask for you to worry about me and I may have been injured, but I am _not _helpless." Another step. "Yes, I had a bad experience today, but I survived." Another step and she was right in front of him, so close he could feel her breath upon his face with every word she spoke. "I do not understand you, Julien. I thought I did, after the time we spent together. I could read your face, your moods, your tone of voice, and in less than a day you have thrown almost ever preconceived thought I had about you out of the window. One minute you're cold and logical, the next utterly vulnerable and apologetic. In the space of this conversation you have moved from being concerned about my well-being, to suggesting that I am a burden to you as I am utterly helpless." She leaned in closer still, her lips nearly touching his, but her eyes sparking with anger. "Why do you care about my job? Why do you care about my wellbeing, you've only known me a few months and we're not exceptionally good friends. Why do you care?"

He could feel her breath fanning over his face and he closed his eyes for a moment. _I care because you are the strongest, bravest, most incredible woman I have ever met. I care because I have seen you broken and have helped you put yourself back together. I care because I want to keep you safe from whatever darkness is in your past and has probably followed you here. I care…because I love you._ He moved his head a fraction and let his lips brush, feather light, across hers.

* * *

Aimee stood frozen, holding her breath as Enjolras' lips made gentle contact against her own, waiting for him to wrap his arms around her and pull her closer. She felt safe, complete, as if she had found a missing part of her soul. Then, his lips were gone and she opened her eyes to see him step away, his cheeks blushed crimson.

"I'm sorry," His words were garbled and he stared at the floor so as not to meet her eyes. "I shouldn't have done that. It was wrong of me, a mistake."

Mistake? The words rang in Aimee's ears and she felt the little flicker of joy she had felt as he kissed her fade out. "A mistake?" She echoed dully. "I suppose it is fitting; that's all this whole situation is to you anyway."

"No…" he stepped forwards, his lips ready with more empty words, but Aimee took a step back, putting some space between them.

"I thought maybe…I just don't understand…I…Oh, I can't do this anymore." She bolted for the door, snatching up her coat on the way, mindful of the cold even in her distressed state. She paused at the door and held up a hand of warning. "Don't bother coming after me because you feel like it's your duty. I won't be a burden to you any longer." She sneered before dashing out of the door, out of the house, out of his life.

* * *

Enjolras stood for a moment, staring with unseeing eyes towards the door that Aimee had just slammed behind her. What had he done? With a small groan he collapsed onto the sofa, the same sofa on which he and Aimee had spent several nights curled up together. He rested his head in his hands, dozens of memories, all containing Aimee, flashing through his head and he was startled to discover tears pricking at the back of his eyes. Just as he was about to succumb to his tears, he heard a light tap, followed by the distinctive squeak of the door opening. In a moment he was on his feet, a mask of self-defence covering his disturbed features. "Aimee, I'm so sorry…"

Only it wasn't Aimee stood in the doorway, it was Margo, her kindly face wearing a sad smile. "You love her, don't you?"

Her words caught him somewhat off guard, as did the genuine look of motherly concern in her eyes, and he was defenceless to bluster or lie. Instead, he nodded heavily and sank back down onto the sofa.

Margo advanced further into the room, wrapping her shawl tighter around her as she seated herself beside the young man who was more like a son to her than a tenant. "If you love her, Julien, go after her. Tell her, tell her how you feel; she needs to hear it from you. You need to tell her."

"I can't." His stubborn statement was completely at odds with the lost, haunted look in his pain darkened eyes.

"Can't? Or won't? Surely you're not too proud."

"Pride? It's not about being proud," The words appeared to be wrung out from him. "I just can't, Margo. Not here, not now. Don't you see? Everyone is depending on me. We're almost there; everything is coming together, everything we've dreamt of and worked for all these years. I cannot let them down; I cannot risk a repeat of last time. Anything that distracts me now could have terrible repercussions for everyone." He paused to draw a long shuddering breath, pinching the bridge of his nose with thumb and forefinger before wiping his hand over his anguished face. He turned an imploring gaze upon Margo. "Don't you see? Don't you understand? I can't go after her; I can't let her know how I feel, not now. I have nothing to offer her but turmoil and uncertainty and she has had enough of that to deal with already. It's better this way, better that she leaves better that she never knows." He stood to leave the room, his hand resting for a brief moment on Margo's shoulder in a rare display of thankfulness and affection. The thud of his boots was heavy as he walked towards his room, past the remnants of the half consumed meal that he and Aimee had been sharing only minutes before.

Margo's heart broke for him as he soundlessly shut his door, this selfless, inspiring, and tragic young man. "Oh, Julien," she whispered to herself as she left the strangely silent apartment, "to live without love is to be already dead."

* * *

The bitter air nipped at Aimee's face as she retraced the route to the café that she had walked with Enjolras less than two hours earlier, her footsteps loud on the cobbles, her breath hitching every now and again as she struggled to control her tears.

She remembered Enjolras' gentle kiss, a kiss that she could still feel, still taste. She could still smell the wonderful scent that was _him _strong in her nostrils; paper, ink, a hint of his cologne, a touch of male musk. She brutally banished the memory as she remembered his words, his actions. She was nothing but a burden to him, a distraction, _a mistake_. She wished she could summon up some semblance of hate for him, or at least strong dislike, but the only emotion she could seem to feel was a strange feeling of loss, like she had somehow lost a limb she didn't know she had.

She paused for a moment, steadying herself against the wall of a building, trying to calm her emotions so she could think logically about her current situation. Although the café was warm and appealing, she just wanted a moment alone to think, as the moment she stepped into the room the Amis would start hurling questions at her.

She obviously couldn't move back in with Enjolras; that conversation, and the kiss, had changed everything. She leaned against the wall, her hands stuffed into her pockets to protect them from the cold as she considered her options. She knew that most of the Amis would be glad to offer her a place to stay, but Aimee wasn't comfortable of becoming reliant on another of the boys. She wanted to try and do things on her own a little more now, without the interference of the well-meaning, but sometimes overprotective group of young men that were her friends. Aimee was pretty sure that Eponine would know of somewhere that was cheap to rent, but she would have to beg a place off one of her friends until she got her first pay check. That she was going to take the job at the theatre was definite; she didn't really have a choice now.

Her mind made up, Aimee squared her shoulders and started towards the café. It was almost completely pitch black now and she felt a wave of unease wash over her. She shook it off, angry at herself. She was going to have to be stronger than that now; she had a life to build for herself, and a duty to fulfil, a duty to discover what had become of her parents. It was a duty she would fulfil with or without the help of Enjolras or the Amis. She had the address of the house she had been living in with her Father, a lead she would follow up as soon as she could. Unfortunately, that could be a while considering everything she was going to have to sort before then.

The lights of the café were bright and appealing and Aimee unconsciously picked up her pace, her desire to be amongst her friends again growing stronger. As she passed the alley, the alley that always caused a shiver of fear to run over her, Aimee saw the dark silhouette of a person standing near the entrance, hidden in the shadows. A sudden burst of light appeared as the figure struck a match and just for a moment Aimee got the impression of dark hair, a fashionable hat, and cold, dark eyes. As she stood, frozen with fear, she remembered another night that she spent hurrying through the darkness, another night filled with terror and sadness. A slithering coil of fear awoke in her belly and she broke into a half run, forgetting about being brave and strong and just wanting to get away from whoever that spectre had been, away from the darkest of her memories.

She crashed through the front doors of the Musain, her entrance startling patrons and staff alike, many of the waitresses calling out concerned greetings as she bolted up the stairs and shoved open the door of the back room. Her entrance caused many of the Amis to jump to their feet in surprise, concern written all over their faces.

"Where's Enjolras?" Combeferre demanded, assuming from her entrance that something had befallen his friend. "Is he all right?"

Aimee gave a humorless chuckle between gasping for air, the sound making several of the boys glance at each other in concern. "He's fine." Aimee managed to get out. "But I don't suppose any of you have a spare room that I could use for the near foreseeable future?"

"What happened…?" Bossuet tried to ask, but Aimee waved him off.

"Please don't ask me, not now." Her posture slumped as the adrenaline left her and she would have collapsed if Eponine hadn't of hurried forwards and put a supporting arm around her waist.

"You'll stay with me." She announced in a no nonsense voice, giving Aimee a reassuring squeeze around her waist. "We can pick you belongings up tomorrow."

Both girls missed the significant look that was shared between Combeferre and Courfeyrac, a look that guaranteed Enjolras would be partaking in a very awkward conversation sometime in the near future.

* * *

And so Aimee found herself several hours later on a straw pallet on the floor of Eponine's apartment. The apartment was smaller and darker and a distinctly unpleasant smell rose from the rubbish heap outside the window two stories below, but Aimee didn't really care. She snuggled down into the blanket Eponine had given her and thought over how much her life had changed in just over a day. Had she only been at the police station that morning? Had she only remembered her mother's song that afternoon? Was it only a few hours ago that she was offered a job? Even fewer hours since Enjolras had kissed her…

She tried to banish Enjolras' face from her mind along with the soft feel of his lips dancing on hers. A few tears rolled unbidden down her cheeks and in the dark of the apartment Aimee didn't bother to wipe them away. Why was it you only truly understood how much something meant to you after you've lost it?

**A/N Awww, the ending was pretty tough to write, but now we can get a move on with the real suspense section of the story as well as ranking up the romance between Enjolras and Aimee. Yes, I know it looks pretty dire, but all we writers know that the path of true love never runs smooth! If you really love me, send me a review. Please? Pretty please?**

**Until next time mes amis!**

**Libz**


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N Heeeeeyyyy! Wow, that was an enthusiastic greeting. Anyway, just wanted to say thank you to all of you who have reviewed, followed and favourited, I love you guys! Sorry for the wait, I was distracted by the Les Mis kink meme.**

**If you want to check out another Enjolras/OC fiction, look at Between Heaven and Earth by Pica Britannia. It's only just getting started, but it is very well written and extremely intriguing. **

**Disclaimer:**** Would I have killed all of the gorgeous Amis and left Marius (**_**Marius?!)**_** alive? No, therefore I am not Victor Hugo.**

**Chapter Twenty-one**

Aimee was rudely awoken the next morning, shaken into consciousness none too gently by Eponine. "Hey, look, sorry for the early wake-up call, but I needed to tell you that you're going to have to see to yourself this morning."

Aimee struggled up into a sitting position, pulling the blankets up to her shoulders. "No problem. What time is it?"

"Just before seven," the other girl replied, "but I have to go into work early because some idiot didn't finish a dress that was due to be delivered today so I'm going to have to finish it. I'll be back at around one, so then we can go and pick up all of your things, alright?"

She managed a sleepy nod. "No problems, you go and put the fear of Eponine into a piece of fabric."

With a quick glare and a wave Eponine barrelled out of the apartment, slamming the door behind in her haste. Aimee flopped rather ungracefully back onto the straw pallet that was serving as her bed, shivering, she snuggled down back under the blankets, missing the warmth and comfort of her bed in Enjolras' apartment.

_'No,' _she forcefully reminded herself, '_that part of my life is done now, so I need to face up to that fact and get on with living life. Living life without him.'_

Now that she was fully awake, the possibility of returning to sleep was impossible, so Aimee instead set about making herself useful. After redressing in her dress from the day before (the only clothing she had) she tidied away the straw pallet she had spent the night on, tucking it away into the corner to free up the floor space of the small apartment. She then set about coaxing the embers in the kitchen fireplace back to life, a feat that took no time at all thanks to the dry and resin filled pine logs. Eponine had acquired them for nothing, explaining that the wood came from dead Christmas trees that the rich threw away once the trees began to turn brown and shed their needles.

Once the fire was crackling merrily away in the grate, Aimee swept the kitchen and living area of the apartment, even going as far as to gather up the dust and dispose of it outside instead of sweeping it out onto the landing outside the door.

She stopped briefly to eat a russet apple she found in a bag, but found her mind wandering back to the night before and therefore to Enjolras. To distract herself further, she tackled the kitchen, boiling several kettles of water and thoroughly scouring the surfaces and table until her hands were red and wrinkled, the myriad of scars standing out in thin white lines on the heated flesh.

She traced the white lines carefully, a flood of emotion hitting her in the chest.

_The alley was dank and dark, the walls coated in green slime and black mould. She glanced behind her, fear hammering in her chest, seeing only the student she had knocked into picking up his papers. He was there though, he was coming, and she had to get away. _

The rag she had been using to clean with hit the floor with a wet slap.

_Hands clamped down on her shoulders, spinning her and slamming her back against the uneven brick. She lashed out blindly, felt a white hot burst of pain on the back of her hands before her nails briefly met the skin of his face. A growl of rage, a thud, nothing…_

Forcing herself to breath, Aimee threw herself back into the task at hand, forcing the memories down and away to the back of her mind.

_I am stronger now. _She thought. _I can do this._

Sometime later, when she had just set another kettle of water to boil, a knock sounded at the door. Aimee paused momentarily, a wave of nerves washing over her, similar to how she had felt the night before when alone in the street, and realized the vulnerable situation she was in; alone in an unfamiliar part of the city where no one knew her. The knock sounded again, but this time it was accompanied by Eponine's voice.

"Aimee? Can you let me in? None of us have free hands!"

Intrigued by Eponine's choice of words, Aimee hastily complied and opened the door. Outside, she found not only her roommate, but also Annette and another woman she didn't recognize.

"I got the dress finished early so the Madam let me go for the day." Eponine placed a basket of food down on the table. "Oh, and also, Annette will be joining us from now on." She gave a mock scowl. "I used to have this place to myself, now it's being overrun by romantically challenged women!"

Annette flushed slightly, ducking her head, not recognizing the teasing for what it was. "Feuilly wouldn't countenance the idea of me living with him, but I hadn't exactly thought out where I would live."

The third woman clucked disapprovingly. "Nonsense, 'Nette. It was incredibly romantic what you did, and very brave. If you had stopped to think about it, you probably would have talked yourself out of it and then where would we be? Feuilly would still be moping and you would be stuck at home with nothing in your future but an arranged marriage to an overweight, bald rich man twice your age with a drink problem!"

"That's maybe a little over dramatic." Aimee grinned, instantly taking a liking to the dark haired woman before her. "I'm Aimee Lyon, newly acquired roommate of 'Ponine's."

The woman reached out a hand. "Musichetta, the one and only." Her whole face lit up as she smiled, her silver eyes gleaming. "I'm Joly's mistress."

"He talks about you a lot." Aimee subtly scanned the other woman's hand for a ring, remembering Joly voicing his intention to propose to her before Christmas.

Musichetta noticed her scrutiny, but instead of being insulted, she simply laughed. "He's had the ring in the back of his drawer for nearly a month, bless him. I'm going to give it another three weeks before I get the ring out and do it myself!"

Aimee laughed, "He's been fretting about it for weeks. He says he just manages to get up the courage when he realizes he is displaying symptoms of a deadly disease, it changes every time, and decides to wait to see if it's terminal or not before he declares his intentions. He wails that he doesn't want to give the chance of happiness only to have it snatched away by the cruel clutches of Death."

Eponine gave a very unladylike snort of laughter, remembering several meetings where Joly had announced he was dying, only to change his mind an hour later. Annette giggled uncomfortably, as she didn't know the group that well and still felt awkward about her relationship with Feuilly.

Musichetta however gave a peal of tinkling laughter. "As much as I love that boy, even I have to get away from him occasionally." She sank into one of the kitchen chairs by the fire with a sigh. "Hence why I'm moving in with Eponine for a few days."

"We're going to be quite the full house." Eponine said, laying out a couple of loaves of fresh bread and a small crock of butter.

Aimee moved to make the pot of coffee, following Eponine's directions to where things were kept. The four of them set to eating, a comfortable silence falling over them until Musichetta settled her chin in her hand and asked Aimee, "We were just wondering…what is it like to have no memory?"

Annette gasped and coloured and Eponine slammed her forehead into the palm of her hand. Musichetta shrugged. "What? It's a simple question and there's no point tip toeing around it if we really want to know."

Aimee couldn't help but smile at Musichetta's blunt approach. She felt at ease with these women. "It's an honest question, a question that no one has actually asked me before." She sat down at the remaining chair and thought for a moment. "It's…frustrating more than anything, like when you know the answer to a question but can't quite find the word, or when you recognize someone or something but can't remember where from." She looked down, tracing patterns on the stained wood. "It's painful most of the time though, knowing I have a past, and memories and a family, but not being able to remember all of it." She smiled sadly. "But then I think that it is better to be alive with no memory than dead in an alley as I was intended to be."

Annette paled slightly and Aimee realized that the younger girl hadn't been told of the circumstances that brought her to the Amis.

"If I'm alive, at least I get the chance to regain the memories I have lost. If I was dead I would be gone forever, with no chance of understanding why that fate had befallen me or what became of my family, which is something that I must know. I won't give up until I've found them, or at the very least discovered what has befallen them."

Musichetta shrugged. "_Q__uesta è la vita*_."

Aimee nodded. "_Come al solito**_."

Musichetta raised an eyebrow. "You know Italian?"

Eponine frowned. "I've never heard you speak it before."

Aimee shrugged. "My mother was Italian, I think. I only remembered yesterday that I knew it at all."

"Isn't that a bit…strange." Annette asked. "Not knowing a language one day and the next just…knowing it?"

Aimee smiled, trying to lighten the mood. "It is, but when you've spent any serious length of time with the Amis, nothing feels particularly strange anymore!"

The other women laughed, Eponine and Musichetta nodding in agreement before launching into their favourite anecdotes about the boys, Musichetta's ones about Joly and Bossuet being the most amusing. Aimee joined in a moment later, feeling her heart lift, glad for the change of company. As much as she loved the Amis, there was a dynamic between them that Aimee couldn't ever quite understand, one that was distinctly male. Even Enjolras, as unsociable and serious as he could be, always fitted in. Involuntarily, her thoughts flitted to him, and in turn, the events of the night before. Something had changed between them, their own dynamic shifting into something different. If only she knew what it was.

"Aimee?" Eponine snapped her fingers in front of her friend's face. "We lost you for a minute there."

"Yes, sorry." Aimee blinked, "What did you say?"

Eponine shared a pointed look with Musichetta that Aimee couldn't quite decipher. "I asked what time Enjolras' classes were. We need to go and pick up all of your things, and I take it you _don't _what him to be there?"

Aimee kept her face blank, not allowing herself to entertain the scenario of seeing Enjolras again so soon. "He's out of the apartment until after two, so we have plenty of time."

"I can get us a fiacre to carry everything." Musichetta offered, and waved off Aimee and Eponine's protests. "Nonsense, I just got paid and Joly spoils me something rotten so it's not like I need anything." She rose in a manner that could only be described as majestic. "Ladies, let us depart."

* * *

Enjolras raised his head from where it had rested on his arms as he slept, yelping in pain as his spine cracked and popped in several places. He rolled his neck, groaning as he did so, massaging the aching muscles, a strange sound reaching his ears. It was quiet, too quiet.

He wandered out into the main living room, the space lacking the noticeable presence of another person. The familiar scent of coffee was absent, there was a distinct chill from the lack of fire in the kitchen, and no hummed melody filled the air. All was still, cold, and silent. Was this truly how he had lived before Aimee had entered his life?

Four sharp, staccato raps sounded on the door, jolting Enjolras from his melancholy. Becoming suddenly aware of his rumpled appearance, he attempted to straighten himself out as best as possible in the short journey to the front door, tucking in his shirt and fastening the buttons on his burgundy and gold waistcoat. He reached for the door knob as he ran a perfunctory hand through his messy curls, feeling frustrated as he discovered they were flattened all down one side from where he had laid on them. The thought that Aimee had returned crossed his mind briefly but that theory was disavowed when the open door revealed Combeferre and Courfeyrac.

"You look like hell!" Courfeyrac greeted cheerfully, flouncing into the apartment as only he could, hooking his cane over the back of a chair and balancing his hat jauntily atop it. Combeferre followed at a more sedate pace, scrutinising his best friend as he did so.

"Well, I'm glad you didn't mince your words or anything." Enjolras re-joined dryly, scrubbing a hand across the fine layer of stubble gracing his jawline. "How's Aimee?" He hesitated before asking the question, but found his need to discover about her wellbeing over ruled his pride.

Courfeyrac frowned slightly. "How would I know? I haven't seen her since last night?"

His words, spoken so casually, made Enjolras freeze in his tracks. "She didn't spend the night at your apartment?" He fought to keep his voice calm, but panic began to leak through.

"No." Courfeyrac answered almost flippantly, looking around the room. "Don't you have a fire going in here? It's freezing!"

The panic hit him full force. He was such a fool! Ignoring his friends' concerned faces he bolted from the room and clattered down the stairs to hammer mercilessly on Margo's door. She answered it a moment later, still clad in her nightclothes, a concerned look on her face.

He didn't give her a chance to speak. "Did Aimee stay with you last night?"

Margo shook her head, worry appearing in her eyes. "She didn't come back? I thought she had gone for a brief walk and would return later."

"Enjolras?" Combeferre's hand came to rest gently upon his shoulder. "You can calm down; Aimee came to the Musain and was offered a place to stay by Eponine."

Enjolras felt the panic subside from his body. He apologized to Margo for so rudely disturbing her so early and trudged back upstairs with Combeferre. There he found a fire newly lit in the grate and Courfeyrac pottering around the kitchen in search of food. Combeferre pushed him gently onto the sofa and sat down opposite him in the armchair, regarding his friend over steepled fingertips.

"From the beginning if you please." Were his only words and Enjolras knew better than to protest. These two men were his oldest and dearest friends and he could tell them anything…almost anything. He might omit the part about him being in love.

He reluctantly told them the story, only stopping once he reached part where he had kissed Aimee, if the brief brush of lips could even be called that.

"You were saying?" Coufeyrac urged, his legs crossed elegantly in front of him, looking far too amused by the tale for Enjolras' liking.

"This isn't some cheap romance novel, or a trashy stage show!" he snapped. "I've just destroyed my relationship with the only woman in my acquaintance, so please give me some time."

"So she asked you why you cared and then…?" Combeferre prompted him.

Enjolras felt a flush colouring his cheeks. "I may have kissed her slightly." He mumbled.

Courfeyrac inhaled his coffee and began to choke while Combeferre didn't look at all surprised.

"We expected as much." He said levelly. "Pat Courfeyrac on the back please, gently mind you. You don't need to bruise him."

"You said we?" queried Enjolras. "Judging by Courfeyrac's reaction he wasn't expecting it at all."

"I was expecting it." Choked out Courfeyrac, "I was just expecting some slightly better timing on your part. Even for you that was pretty horrendous."

"What do you mean even for me?…Oh, never mind, I don't care. The point is I have completely ruined my relationship with her, even if it is in some ways for the better."

"Better? How so?" Combeferre's eyes were piercing behind his spectacles.

Enjolras took a shaky breath. He had never been good at talking about matters of the heart and he wasn't getting any better at it, despite his recent outpourings. "If she does not wish to be around me because of this…incident… then she will distance herself from the group somewhat."

"And this is a good thing?" Courfeyrac asked, incredulous.

"Yes!" Enjolras felt his confidence returning as he spoke. He had had time to think things through now and knew his own mind better now. The fact that he was resolutely ignoring anything his heart was telling him was immaterial. "A revolution is no place for a woman, especially a woman as damaged as Aimee. She needs to keep away."

"She is our friend, Enjolras." Courfeyrac's tone had turned decidedly cool. "Not only that, but we are the only people in Paris, in the world, that she knows. We cannot simply cut her off because you don't know how to handle being in love with something other than Patria."

Enjolras narrowed his eyes, the irises turning an icy blue. "Don't be a fool!" he hissed. "A kiss, and it was barely that, means nothing, as you so often tell me. It is not a devout declaration of love!"

Courfeyrac snorted, ignoring the placating gesture Combeferre sent his way. "Keep telling yourself that, and maybe one day you'll believe it. But until then, let me tell you I think you are being an imbecile. You need something to fight for and sometimes 'the good of the nation' is just a little too broad."

"Think on what he says, Julien." Combeferre interjected, before Enjolras could begin ranting at Coufeyrac. "We are not asking you to marry the girl, but you will do more harm to everyone involved if you cut her out completely, not that I think you would, for you are not a cruel man."

Enjolras felt his anger deflate at those words. Combeferre was right. To sever all contact with Aimee simply because he felt awkward about what had happened would be cruel and everyone would suffer. He gave a watery smile. "My guide and my centre," he stood and clapped them each fondly on the shoulder, "where would I be without you?"

"Hanging out of a window?" Courfeyrac drawled. He shrugged at their questioning looks. "First thing that came to mind."

"You two have classes," Combeferre pointed out, "and I have to get over to Necker and I'm half an hour late already."

"Give me five minutes to change," Enjolras begged, flipping his watch open to check the time. Quarter to eight. By seven minutes to he was washed, shaved, had managed to tame his hair into something vaguely presentable, and had changed into fresh clothing. He emerged from his room, slinging his book bag over his shoulder and checking his tricolour pin was fixed appropriately.

"This came for you while you were changing." Courfeyrac handed him a thick piece of folded parchment.

Enjolras checked the sender's name and address as the three of them descended the stairs and exited onto the street.

_For: Mademoiselle Aimee Lyon, 13 Rue Victoire_

_From: __Jacques Chavenage,_ _Théâtre de__la Reine_.

Ah, the details Monsieur Chavenage had promised. He thrust the letter into his bag hurriedly, mentally reminding himself to find a way to pass them on to Aimee. Should he do it personally? Or was it too soon after their…fight. Send someone else with them? Or would that seem like he didn't want any contact with her at all.

He felt a headache beginning behind his eyes, a sign of his rising stress. He shook himself, as if to shake off the feeling and stepped out with a more resolute stride, ignoring the way Courfeyrac parodied the movement. He would rise above these romantic entanglements and confused feelings and act like a leader should; with purpose and certainty. He would give her the letter and allow things to progress naturally from there. Despite his determination, the letter sat heavy and conspicuous in his bag all day.

**A/N I know it was a bit of filler, but this transition period is going to be a bit bumpy for everyone, myself included. Oh, and yes, Musichetta is Italian.**

*Roughly 'That's life.' Sort of like the French version of 'C'est la vie'

** Roughly 'Oh well.' Or 'As usual'.


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N Hello, all you lovely people who are reading this! I can't believe it, but we're now heading for 75 reviews! I am so humbled by the positive response this has received, so, as with my 50****th**** reviewer, the 75****th**** reviewer will receive a one shot written about the content of their choice.**

**For now, I give to you Chapter 22. *disappears dramatically in a swirl of mist ***

**Disclaimer: I think, therefore I am…Victor Hugo. Or not. (I think I just did a philosophical disclaimer. Ah, Combeferre would be proud!)**

**Chapter Twenty-two**

The hours passed with painful slowness, but finally his last lecture finished and Enjolras set out to return home. Despite the low temperatures and chilling wind, the streets of Paris were still bustling, moving, shifting; hundreds of lives playing out on the stage that was the city, no matter how short or insignificant their part. Enjolras relished it, drinking in the sights of the resilient people he fought for like other men might drink wine.

He was just over half way home when he was accosted by a flushed and panting Feuilly, who barrelled into him in his haste.

Enjolras grabbed the other man by the shoulders and quickly checked to see if anybody was pursuing the fan maker. When you're planning a revolution you can never be too careful or too quick on your feet. Upon seeing none, he turned back to the breathless man before him.

"Have we been discovered?" was his first question, asked in a harsh whisper. His friend signalled the negative with a shake of his head, and Enjolras relaxed somewhat. It took him a moment to realize that his friend was holding out a letter to him, his paint-stained and work-roughened hand shaking slightly.

Enjolras snatched the letter to him, not caring for manners at this moment. He looked carefully at the seal, his heart rate doubling as he saw the distinctive pattern. "Let us get somewhere more private." He muttered, spinning on his heel and making towards his apartment at a greater speed than before. In a few minutes the two men arrived at Enjolras' address and hurriedly made their way up the stairs, ignoring Margo's cheery greeting, much to her consternation.

The moment the door closed behind them, Enjolras broke the red wax seal of the letter and devoured its contents like a starved man, his eyes moving at breakneck speed across the page. Feuilly watched silently, his nerves apparent by the way he gnawed at his fingertips, the nails long since gone. Finally, Enjolras lowered the letter and looked up at his friend. His blue eyes glowed bright with joy and an ecstatic smile broke out across his face.

"He has agreed to meet with us!" Enjolras let out a jubilant shout. "Things are finally moving, Alexandre! Finally! With his help we may actually be able to achieve something!"

Feuilly, slightly startled by the use of his first name, reacted to the news the same as his leader. "That is excellent news, Enjolras." he grinned, the stress lines in his face melting away with the force of his grin. "You will tell the others tonight?"

Enjolras nodded, his mind already thinking ahead to what needed to be done now. His eyes suddenly fell on the door of Aimee's room and he frowned.

It was slightly open. Just a crack, but never the less he was certain that it had been closed when he went out that morning. In a few strides he was at the door and, cautiously, he opened it fully. His heart promptly sank.

Aimee's room was bare. Everything was gone; her clothes, her books, the few knick knacks she had collected over time. Grantaire's drawing of the Amis was missing from above her bed and her few toiletries were gone from the modest dressing table by the door.

Turning around, and ignoring Feuilly's confused stare, he scanned the rest of the apartment. The patchwork quilt that Aimee and Margo had made together was missing from the back of the sofa, as were the two cushion covers. Everything of Aimee's was gone and Enjolras realized how clinical his apartment seemed. Aimee had brought softness to it, a glow of warmth, and now it was gone.

"Enjolras?" Feuilly sounded concerned. "Do you need me for anything else? It's just I have to go back to work…"

When Enjolras turned, his marble façade was fully in place. "No, I'm fine. I'll see you later at the Musain." He gave a tight smile. "Don't mention this to the others until I get there, I want to do the full explanation myself. Some of them will not be happy at being left out of the loop."

Feuilly nodded his assent then left the apartment, closing the door carefully behind him.

Letting out a heavy sigh Enjolras went to him own room, intent on disposing of his heavy book bag and maybe getting a few hours of the work set for him by his professors done before he had to leave for the meeting. He dropped his bag onto the floor with a heavy thump and allowed himself to collapse onto his bed for a moment, sitting on the edge and resting his hands on his knees, his hands covering his eyes as he sighed again.

After a few minutes he forced himself to move and settled himself down at his desk to work. As he did so he noticed a neatly folded sheet of paper sat atop the pile of papers balanced in the middle of the desk. The words inside were written in a fluid and elegant handwriting that he knew well.

_Enjolras,_

_I am now staying with Eponine. I shall be forever grateful for the hospitality and kindness that you have shown me._

_Regards,_

_Aimee Lyon_

He stared at the words, uncomprehending for a moment. The message was formal and stiff, so unlike Aimee's personality, yet this was all she left him with. With a low snarl of frustration he crushed the paper into a ball, his knuckles turning white. He had ruined the gentle, easy friendship he had shared with Aimee, all because he had let emotions control him. He threw the ruined note across the room, by some fluke sending it out of the open window.

The rage left him as suddenly as it had come and he slumped in his seat, two more letters sitting on the desk in front of him. One held the news that could change his life and the lives of all of the Amis forever. The other held the potential to send Aimee's life in quite a different direction.

LINE BREAK

Several hours passed in a blur and before Enjolras knew it, it was time for him to leave for the meeting. Anticipation rose within him, nerves mixed with excitement, as he grabbed his bag and the two letters and bolted out of the door, pausing only briefly to shrug on his jacket.

He nodded cordially to Margo on the way out, to make up for his rudeness earlier, to which she replied with a broad smile and a query of whether he would want anything to eat when he came in. he declined.

"You're my landlady, not my housekeeper." The slight smile on his face took the bite out of his words and he knew that despite his protests, when he got home that night a dish of something would be sitting in his kitchen, warm and ready to eat.

He kept his pace quick but casual, not wanting to draw any unnecessary attention to himself. The act was basically pointless, for a man of Enjolras' looks and stature was bound to receive attention, but as usual he saw none of it, thinking he had indeed managed to remain mostly unnoticed.

Upon arrival to the Musain he bid a brief good evening to the waitress on duty before leaping up the stairs and hurrying along the corridor. He gave the correct knock, and then entered, making sure to give an entrance to attract the attention of everyone. He would be in need of their focus in a moment.

His entrance had the desired effect; every eye in the room was drawn towards him, just as he expected. What he hadn't expected was the presence of Aimee and Eponine. It knocked his composure for an imperceptible moment, but he pulled himself together and strode to the front of the room. Without even pausing to remove his satchel, he leapt up onto the table, his body afire with bright fervour, his throat aching to speak.

"Friends! Brothers!" His voice was rich and sure, reverberating around the room to capture everyone's attention. "Despite the harshness of the elements outside, the fire of progress burns bright in the hearts of many. They yearn for a better future for both themselves and their children. Yet despite all of this, they do not rise, they do not speak out. Why?" He let the question hang for a moment before answering it himself. "Because they are afraid, afraid of the very establishment that is meant to protect them, care for them. The desire is there though, simply waiting for the match to set the tinder alight, for the bellows to coax the smouldering spark into a roaring blaze. That is our goal; to inspire the people, a task made difficult by the size of our immediate comrades." A few of the Amis muttered at that and Enjolras waved his hands for quiet. "I am not trying to belittle our efforts, but the fact remains that although our group is strong of heart, it is few in numbers. Now," A pause stretched as he looked around the room and no one missed the triumphant gleam in his eyes. "how many of you have heard of _Le Faucon_?"

There was a brief muttering amongst his lieutenants. _Le Faucon_, The Falcon, was a name whispered in back rooms such as theirs, a name spoken with awe and draped in mystery.

He was well known in the revolutionary circle, as well as out of it, as a being a dangerous man. The police abhorred him for the way he always managed to escape capture and for his seemingly innate talent for sniffing out police spies, spies that were never seen or heard of again.

The revolutionaries venerated him, especially the more militant branches for they saw him as saviour, a modern King David, the next Saint-Just, a man willing to lead them to battle and emerge with them on the other side, victorious. Adored by the people he fought for, he still rarely came out in public, only having been glimpsed a few times during prison raids to rescue brothers-in-arms.

Oh, yes, they had heard of _Le Faucon_.

"Thanks to Feuilly and some of his connections, I was able to get in contact with the man himself. I explained our beliefs and our goals and asked if he would be interested in joining with us. Today I received the all-important reply." Here he plunged his hand into the satchel and withdrew the precious piece of parchment. "In the letter he expresses his desire to meet with us, having heard many good things about our group."

A small cheer rippled around the room and Enjolras hadn't the heart to glare at them for interrupting.

"Despite our few numbers, he says that we could be of valuable use to the Cause." Another cheer sounded, but Enjolras waved them down, wishing to continue. "Our relationship with his branch of the movement is still new and tentative, but it has potential to grow into a bond of steel, forged by the fire of our beliefs. With the help of _Le Faucon _and others branches and groups such as ourselves, we have the chance to achieve our dream; a dream of a better France for all where people live in harmony beside one another. _Vive l'France!_"

A roar of '_Vive l'France!_' echoed around the room as Enjolras hopped down off the table, thoroughly pleased with the reaction. That was, until he saw Combeferre. The young doctor was sat quietly, with a slight frown marring his gentle features and Enjolras knew that for some reason his friend was not pleased.

His euphoric mood rapidly disappearing, he braced himself for the next task of his evening as nerves suddenly bubbled in the pit of his stomach. Cautiously, he approached the table occupied by Aimee and Eponine, bidding them a cordial, if somewhat stiff, good evening.

"This came for you earlier." He held out the letter, irritated at the way his pulse jumped when their fingers brushed. He had to forget her, damn it! He had so much more to be focusing on now! Dropping his gaze to the table, the floor, anywhere but her eyes, he missed the flush of colour that infused her neck and face.

"Thank you." She murmured and, taking it as his dismissal, he turned to go.

"Wait!" she seemed embarrassed by her request, but she bravely forced her eyes to his. "I haven't heard of this _Le Faucon_. Who is he?" Her words lilted up to form a question and Enjolras felt himself falling once again into those intelligent green eyes. But then he remembered that he couldn't be in love with her, couldn't let her get close to him, especially now that things were finally moving. So he kept his voice cool and detached; the very epitome of a polite but preoccupied leader.

"That is really none of your concern. Good evening, _mademoiselle_." He bowed stiffly, mentally slapping himself for falling back into the society manners that he been ingrained in him since birth, and stalked majestically over to Combeferre.

LINE BREAK

"Are you alright?" Aimee snapped her eyes up to meet Eponine's, seeing the concern in the other girl's gaze. "He was an unbelievable _âne*_!"

She gave a watery smile. "I'm fine. Just a little…confused." Confused was in fact an understatement. Her emotions and thoughts clamoured inside of her in a tempest of contradictions. Enjolras confused her, completely and utterly. Was it only two nights before that they had walked home, hand in hand? The man who had handed her the letter was a near stranger, not the intelligent, humorous, passionate man that she had come to know.

Her eyes strayed back to the sheet of paper in her hands and she mentally shook herself. Enjolras, with his mood swings and his revolution, was not her concern now. She needed to get this job, make her own way in the world. If she had money, her own money, at her disposal, her inquiry into her past would be made far easier.

Her resolve hardened, she gave her friend another smile, this one bright but her face was determined. "Let's have some fun tonight, because tomorrow," here she shook the letter, "is the beginning of something altogether brand new."

"I'll toast to that!" Grantaire, who had wandered close enough to hear her last statement, called to the room at large. "To new beginnings! _Vive l'France_!"

* ass, jackass

**A/N Fillerish, I know, but it had to be done. The appearance of another OC? Bet you never saw that coming! Oh, yes, **_**Le Faucon **_**will be playing a **_**very **_**important part in this tale. **

**So, next time.** **Aimee starts at her job, more questions arise over her past, and Enjolras starts towards his alliance with **_**Le Faucon**_**. Well, that's the plan anyway! ;)**

**Please review! It'll mean the world to me!**

**Until next time, mes amis!**

**Libz **


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